


Vorfreude

by Alitheia



Category: Joker Game (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist!Miyoshi, Awkward Romance, Getting Back Together, M/M, Photographer!Kaminaga, Slow Burn, ex-lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-01 22:30:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10931331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alitheia/pseuds/Alitheia
Summary: They could’ve been in any other place, chosen some other road at some other time, and even then there were still hundreds of other people to accidentally bump shoulders with, but of course Kaminaga had to findhimhere; whoever it was controlling fate, they must’ve had a really good sense of humor.After all, Miyoshi was his ex.





	1. fate, and its sense of humor

**Author's Note:**

> life has been so stressful lately ~~actually, when is it not lmao~~ and i had just finished the multichapter i've been using as a diversion so i thought why don't i try to write another one. i intended this one to be a lot more lenient and lighter than my previous kamimiyo fic, so hope you enjoy it as well. happy reading! ヽ(*・ω・)ﾉ
> 
> .
> 
> _**vorfreude** (n.) the joyful, intense anticipation that comes from imagining future pleasures_

Whoever it was controlling fate, they must’ve had a really good sense of humor.

Well, Kaminaga was not one to believe in things such as fate, but it’s not like every day you could stumble across someone you haven’t seen for years, especially when you believed they weren’t even in the country. Yet the two met, in a city as big as this, right in the middle of the crossroad among hurriedly passing crowds, on a day that couldn’t get any more ordinary. They could’ve been in any other place, chosen some other road at some other time, and even then there were still hundreds of other people to accidentally bump shoulders with, but _of course_ Kaminaga had to find him here; if this wasn’t fate then he didn’t know what else to call it.

The other person was probably thinking of the same thing, or he was just silently cursing his luck. Neither of them spoke, as the world around them devotedly kept moving. It struck Kaminaga as odd, for the world always felt like pausing every time the two of them were together. But then before he could really dig up the feeling of how it used to be, the pedestrian light turned red, breaking the ice of their frozen time. Kaminaga was practically running when he turned back and followed the other, to the side of the road he just came from.

Flow of Shijo Street never recedes. Kaminaga hadn’t been that long in Kyoto, but enough to know that hesitating now would mean losing him in the ever-moving mass of people. Worried that he would miss the chance, Kaminaga reached out to pat the other’s arm lightly, becoming the first one to break the silence, “Hey, long time no see.”

It was Miyoshi.

The man stared back for a moment, and his brown eyes were just as beautiful as the last time Kaminaga saw them in person. His face had always been hard to read too, a fact that remained true even after all these years, so Kaminaga wasn’t sure whether the other was feeling delight upon their unexpected reunion, or simply an urge to punch him on the face (it’s probably the latter, though, remembering how it had been last time they spoke directly). When Miyoshi finally answered, his tone outdone even the chilliness of mid-December, “Indeed, long time no see, Kaminaga.”

It was one of those rare moments when Kaminaga was at a loss for what to say. He was usually the eloquent one, although smooth-talk never succeeded on Miyoshi. But at least the other man didn’t treat him like he’s invisible, that’s probably a good start; Kaminaga would rather try his luck than lament the chances he let go anyway.

“So”—Kaminaga meant to add a dazzling smile, but his sentence was already falling awkwardly—“how’s life been going for you?”

After all, this was his ex.


	2. obstinate, isn't he?

Curse his luck.

Miyoshi tried not to use vulgar words, or even to see things from a negative perspective in general—because hey, there’s a distinction between being realistic and pessimistic—but really, _screw this_. He could’ve actually met anyone, some other friend or any other acquaintance—hell, he might even rather meeting that obnoxious aunt of his who kept trying to set him up with a daughter of her friend from that posh-whatever-social club—okay, maybe not his aunt. But again, here, after all these years, he found himself meeting the last person on Earth he’d want to see.

_Kaminaga._

He was usually careful not to bump into anyone, and even if he did (or _they_ did), Miyoshi would just bow slightly while murmuring an apology before carrying on, and neither he nor the other person would bother to look at each other’s face. But this one man actually stopped dead in his tracks and Miyoshi automatically followed, turning his head to make sure the gentleman was okay and he didn’t make him drop anything.

—Take that back, this turned out to be no gentleman. Still with those gleaming eyes of his, still with the smile that makes knees go weak (didn’t work on Miyoshi, definitely), and still with the nerve to greet him like nothing ever happened. Of course, certainly, there’s no doubt; it’s that scoundrel Kaminaga.

Perhaps it’s true when they said there are just parts of somebody that would always stay, because Kaminaga didn’t look like he changed for the slightest bit. But so did Miyoshi; the man knew his poker face was still a first-rate, and when he wanted to, he’s practically unreadable, even to someone who knew him so well like this man did.

With the coldest, casual tone he could produce, he replied, “Indeed, long time no see, Kaminaga.”

“So”—the other man smiled, and it’s almost disgusting how he was still so charming—“how’s life been going for you?”

Just see that face! Trying to smile even though he knew Miyoshi disliked empty chit-chat. Kaminaga might think that he could make everything go smooth by being genial, but no way Miyoshi would let him have his way.

“Busy, I’m literally running off my feet.” He emphasized by glancing at his watch, knowing that Kaminaga would follow his gaze. “It’s a nice surprise to see you here, but I really have to go.”

“Some other time, then,” the other man said quickly, “see you again—?”

“Goodbye.”

“Wait!” Kaminaga caught his upper arm as soon as he turned around, but he let go just as fast, even before Miyoshi had the chance to yank his hand off. “Sorry, I understand that you’re super busy and stuff, but I’m really happy to find you here—I thought you’re still in Germany, Miyoshi—but who would’ve guessed we’d meet now! If you don’t mind, though,” clearing his throat, he continued, “maybe we could meet again and you know, catch up sometime?”

 _See._ There it was. Miyoshi had actually wanted to go as soon as he could so he wouldn’t get to hear exactly that last part, because he knew that’s what Kaminaga would try to instigate if they ever met again, and he knew one of them might start hoping like a foolish maiden (not Miyoshi, _obviously_ ). He just truly hated idle talk, and speaking with Kaminaga any longer than thirty seconds had a great chance of leading into things that he didn’t even want to think of. Although Miyoshi was certain that he would not lose if this would be some kind of a battle of adamance, because unlike his younger self, the man he was now despised wasting time. There existed a lot more sophisticated forms of entertainment than taking up to this grinning idiot.

Miyoshi gave him his sweetest smile, as if promising. “Sure. Sometime.”

But he should’ve remembered that both of them equally were stubborn, and persistence was probably one of the things that annoyed him the most about Kaminaga. “And sometime means…?”

“Anytime.”

“Soon?”

“I wouldn’t say.”

One of Miyoshi’s feet had already shifted to the side, ready to turn his body and walked away as fast as he could. This was also another thing he hated about Kaminaga, couldn’t he stop pretending not being able to read the atmosphere? Over the years Miyoshi had learned to be subtle in refusing, but if it’s with this man, then it’s probably better not being low-key at all.

“Here,” in an instant Kaminaga’s hand dived into his pocket, taking out his wallet and produced a business card from it, “I know you’re still blocking me on Facebook”—Miyoshi had wanted to comment on it, but the other man didn’t miss a beat—“and I know too you won’t give me anything to contact you, but if there’s any chance for us to be friends again, why don’t you give me a call?”

It was a desperate last try, Miyoshi was aware, and he realized too that Kaminaga knew he wouldn’t ever get the call even if the world ended tomorrow. Nevertheless he still _tried_ , lighting up his eyes with hopes despite knowing he would only be turned down. Kaminaga probably didn’t think; there were indeed times when he only did what his heart urged him to.

Miyoshi sighed, soft and almost inaudible. “All right.”

He took the card and their fingers brushed slightly. Kaminaga’s hand was cold, like it always used to—his hands always got cold easily, and Miyoshi bet too that the man still so obstinately forgo his gloves even in the coldest weather. _Idiot_ , he thought, but found himself secretly fighting back a smile.

In truth, Miyoshi didn’t want to run away—what from? It’s not like he’s afraid he’d fall again for Kaminaga, but out of the supposition that getting close to him again would be too troublesome. He’s no longer that young, after all, and now he had no time for bullshit. Though he couldn’t deny that deep down somewhere within him, there had always been a desire to return to being friends so he could show how well he’d been, how he managed just fine (for most part, at least) even without Kaminaga—like a sort of revenge, but classier. Even so, now really wasn’t the right time, and Miyoshi had absolutely no intention of bringing back the past.

Therefore, he looked straight into the other’s eyes, giving him a soundless message, _There’s no hope for_ us _; it’s already over._

Kaminaga understood, just like those times when they didn’t actually need words to comprehend each other, and yet he only smiled. “Looking forward to see you again, then.”

_Obstinate, isn’t he?_


	3. in stillness and motion

The phone call, as expected, never came. Neither did any message, nor even a single sign in the sky.

It’s been two weeks—what happened to the damn three-day rule?—and Kaminaga still hadn’t heard anything from Miyoshi. Maybe he should just give up after all, or maybe he shouldn’t even have tried in the first place. Sure, he attempted to make things sound like it was no big deal, but in those last seconds when their eyes met before Miyoshi turned away, Kaminaga had already gotten the answer; _not gonna happen, mate—you and I are ancient history._ He figured, actually, though it’d be a lie if Kaminaga said it didn’t upset him.

But even if his advances got rejected, the world kept on moving on. His self was no longer the center of everything like he used to think, and any setback an entity as small as himself had to face wouldn’t affect the universe in the slightest. That’s just how trivial he was, like any other thing on this Earth, and that’s precisely why Kaminaga became a photographer; so he could capture all the beauty of these insignificant people and little pieces of their life then show them to the world, so he could share the things that make life worth living, so that everyone would realize and appreciate the art of existing itself!—or something like that. Damn, he must’ve taken all those philosophy classes in college too seriously.

Kaminaga’s eyes, which were trained to notice little things too, surely didn’t miss to catch the posters pinned on advertisement boards across the station (partially because the posters themselves were pretty big as well, but that wasn’t the point). Apparently, there’s an exhibition of Yoshitoshi’s woodblock prints in the little museum they had on the seventh floor of the station. The photographer wasn’t actually that keen on art—sure, he enjoyed seeing them, but he preferred listening to Miyoshi giving insights about the meaning of every shape and color rather than trying to scrutinize the paintings himself (or at least that’s how it used to be, but Kaminaga might need to stop thinking about him now).

Having no schedule and still in the period of exploring the city, he saw nothing wrong in dropping by. So on Sunday morning after having his breakfast in one of the cafes at the station, Kaminaga took the elevator to the designated floor.

The clock showed just a little after ten when he arrived at the venue, just in time for the business hour. Kaminaga bet he must be one of the first visitors of the day, because seriously, who’d want to start the day by looking at old woodblock prints from two centuries ago anyw— _whoa_ , the girl behind the ticket counter was cute, Kaminaga flashed her an unnecessarily friendly smile as she handed him the list of the exhibits on a piece of paper.

Unassumingly, he entered the exhibition room. Right after the entrance was a big photo of Yoshitoshi, with a short background of the artist, which he skimmed through like he did with the paper given to him. Kaminaga probably have heard the name somewhere before, though he never really paid attention. There were almost no other people in the room, so he freely moved from one frame to another without following the number order.

Kaminaga was by no means an expert in paintings, moreover woodblock prints, but he immediately admired the bold contrast and bright colors in Yoshitoshi’s works. The more he saw, the more he got impressed. The photographer had just started to rave silently about the great details that were put into the prints, thinking of ways to capture the same dynamics into his own photos when his eyes laid on Miyoshi, standing before a huge exhibit on his left. It was a marvelous print, picturing waves in th— _wait._

 _Is it really—oh,_ OH _._

Kaminaga’s breath hitched, and he made a mental note to visit the shrine later to thank the gods or any other beings that might have blessed him with this kind of luck. An accidental encounter was pretty ordinary, but a second one? Either his whole life had been a TV series with a cliché plot or this was just another evidence of fate’s work.

Noticing the small noise, Miyoshi turned his head and his eyes went wide. If it was a film too, Kaminaga thought, this was exactly the part where they would play the emotional original soundtrack. Miyoshi, though, didn’t seem to be swept by the moment at all. Unlike the last time they met, his gaze now wasn’t icy cold, it’s rather fiery, even. Coincidentally too, the print he was staring at was one that depicted the Battle of Dan-no-ura from the Genpei War—another display of fate’s sense of humor, perhaps, Miyoshi did look like he’s ready to fight someone.

Still not sure of what to say, Kaminaga spat out the first thing that came to his mind, “Morning, Miyoshi!”

Ignoring the greeting, the man didn’t even hide his annoyance when he hissed, “What the hell are you doing here?”

Mind you, Miyoshi seldom used swear words, so Kaminaga knew the man was probably in a bad mood, or meeting _him_ was probably the very cause of the bad mood.

“I’m looking at… woodblock prints?” he replied, rhetorically, adding a smile at the end.

The other wasn’t amused. “Someone like you would never go to an art exhibition alone.”

“Hey, I can be artsy too,” Kaminaga said, “and if you’re suggesting that I’m stalking you or something, then the answer is no.”

Miyoshi looked incredulous, but then only sighed. “I figured you wouldn’t be that low. But here and now, what a fine day you chose.”

Kaminaga, of course, didn’t mention that there was this one time when he made a double account to secretly follow Miyoshi’s Instagram—that wasn’t the kind of stalking in context here, okay, so he was still considered innocent. “I know right, who would’ve thought we’d meet again today?”

“I’m leaving.”

“Hey!”

The exhibition was divided into a few sections, based on the series and years the prints were created. Miyoshi practically acted like Kaminaga wasn’t there throughout the first section, but when they entered the second that included the Twenty-eight Murders series, he heard the former casually commented, “Seems like Yoshitoshi is known for his bloody prints.”

“Is he?” The photographer swept his eyes around the room, jumping from one bloody face of agony to an even worse bloody face of agony—okay, this Yoshitoshi guy sure was rad. “I can see why, though.”

They came to a print that showed a man ripping off another’s face, the skin was stretched in an unnatural way and the muscles below it were shown, while blood dripping everywhere in a nauseating rotten tomato color. Kaminaga found the whole picture to be downright appalling, yet the other stared at it as if he was examining a masterpiece, eyebrows knitted and expression serious. He looked cute, to be honest, Kaminaga did miss the days when he’d accompany the other to art exhibitions and Miyoshi would prattle about the paintings so passionately.

“What do you think of this one?” Kaminaga asked.

“Truly appalling.” Miyoshi wasted no time to answer. “I get his aesthetic, and his composition is splendid, but I just can’t think of this one as any good.”

Kaminaga chuckled. “Exactly what I thought.”

Miyoshi glanced at him, for a split second looking like he wanted to smile, but thought better of it and returned his attention to the print. Kaminaga had wanted to point out how they might still be on the same wavelength, so why didn’t as well just give him a chance?—but thought better of it too and held his tongue. The atmosphere had just gotten a little better between them, he didn’t want to risk screwing it up.

Proceeding to the next exhibit, the other man muttered under his breath, “I still can’t believe we just _coincidentally_ went to an art display at the same time—and this one’s for a woodblock print too, on top of that.”

“The real question is for you, though, why are you even here?” Kaminaga asked, keeping in mind not to make his tone sound accusing. “I admit that I don’t have any interest in woodblock prints, but didn’t you hate Japanese-style paintings?”

“Who said so?”

“Wasn’t that the reason you went to Europe or something, because you were so obsessed in studying those _youga_?[1]” He raised an eyebrow. “You never gave Japanese-style paintings a second glance, did you, I thought finding you in a woodblock print display like this was impossible.”

It was not a question and Miyoshi clicked his tongue in response, probably annoyed because Kaminaga was right. The painter would never do anything ill-mannered in front of anyone else, but he was glad to see that Miyoshi’s still honest when it’s only between the two of them, even if it possibly meant that he was held in contempt.

“People _change_ , Kaminaga—some might not, though,” Miyoshi took a moment to make an obvious glance at him before continuing, “but usually, they do change, their perspective and work might too. You’re still the same?”

“Nah, not really,” he scratched the back of his head, “but yeah, you’re right, I guess.”

The other stared at him for a little while, like he was assessing, before finally busied himself with the woodblock prints again. They moved on to the next section, and the more prints they saw, the more Miyoshi started to speak. The painter would often give an expert’s comment on the exhibit, while Kaminaga shared his more general thoughts. Sometimes they would instantly agree with each other, sometimes they would also argue, but it felt just like how it used to be in the past, when the two spent the day away by visiting galleries or photo exhibitions and museums. Kaminaga wasn’t aware himself that they had been talking (almost) normally, until the room somehow felt too hot that he had to take off his coat. Only when he did so, the photographer noticed that the venue had already been crowded.

“Is it just me, or is it really getting stuffy in here?”

“It is, more people are coming in the afternoon—that’s why I came early, actually.” Miyoshi said as he looked at his watch; Kaminaga thought Miyoshi checked the time much more often than he used to. “Well, this is the last section anyway, and it’s just right about twelve.”

“Oh, wanna grab some lunch after this?”

“On what account did you presume that we’re hanging out together?”

“We’re not? Ah, well, sorry, I just thought the mood was really good just now so you might finally want to sit down and catch up with this old pal.” Kaminaga smiled as sweet as he could, knowing that his cute face had always been a trump card that would succeed on anybody. “Come on, I know you miss me too.”

Miyoshi stared at him, deadpan. The kind of deadpan that could spit at you out of disgust any time. Okay, maybe the Cute-face Tactic wasn’t very effective on him, Kaminaga sighed inwardly, it’s hard indeed when the target was someone who’s just as handsome—and this one’s a narcissist too—he really couldn’t treat Miyoshi like the others.

According to the paper he’d been carrying around since the entrance, that section was named _Drama between “Stillness” and “Motion”_. Kaminaga wasn’t sure of what it meant, and he was hoping Miyoshi would continue on commenting, but the painter didn’t say much this time, and instead seemed to be engrossed in the prints. The photographer then started reading the information on the wall plaques, but soon got more interested in his own musing.

Yoshitoshi got praised for the dynamic of stillness and motion in his prints, but wouldn’t the very basic concept of that was like life itself? The world was always in motion, but someone could choose to be still. He too would love to stay for a while and just enjoy living, but more often than not, the flow would sweep him along. Yet when he and Miyoshi were together, stillness was effortless. Time paused for them, and nothing else mattered. It might not be the perfect kind of relationship, but it was their ideal—or so he thought. Things don’t always go in the way expected, after all. Kaminaga tried to keep moving ever since, but now he found himself getting back to square one, being still by holding on to his stupid hopes, while Miyoshi seemed to be in motion, and have long moved on.

The two managed to finish the last section without any further incident, and the exit door led them directly to the souvenir shop, where a myriad of things with questionable function were sold, all adorned with Yoshitoshi’s works.

Kaminaga quickly became interested in the middle part of the shop, at which a rack of postcards stood. He wasn’t sure himself when did exchanging postcards became his casual side hobby, but it’s always been a wonderment to him, how a tiny piece of card could travel from the other side of the globe, bringing with it stories from people who were completely strangers, much like photos. He always had a curious mind from the beginning, and that feeling too had encouraged him to travel into little alleys in cities and traced the furthest corners of Earth with his camera.

Choosing some postcards for himself, his eyes looked for Miyoshi in that little shop—oh, there he was, glad he didn’t sneak away when Kaminaga was distracted. He approached the other man, who was standing in front of a row of books with face that was extremely hard to decipher. Kaminaga took a peek at what he was staring at, and picked up a notebook with a bunch of anthropomorphic cats wearing Edo period clothing on the cover. “Somehow these ones look different from the exhibits we saw just now.”

“I’m impressed that you noticed,” Miyoshi glanced at him, before gesturing to an information plaque placed above the display table, “the ones here are actually by Kuniyoshi—Yoshitoshi’s teacher. That being said, I don’t get why they see the need to sell his prints in an exhibition that’s intended for Yoshitoshi.”

“You don’t sound very happy about that.”

Miyoshi sighed. “I hate Kuniyoshi’s work.”

“Huh, why?”

“He drew cats,” Miyoshi made it sound comically scandalous, but his expression was so serious that Kaminaga wasn’t sure if he was really joking, “too many of them.”

“You’re seriously still on about that?” Kaminaga laughed nonetheless. “What’s wrong with cats?”

“I would never tolerate the existence of these creatures on Earth.”

“Ah, but these are really cute,” the photographer picked up another cat-covered notebook, intentionally holding it up in front of them so the other man ended up seeing it too, “oh look—this one’s eating a squid!”

A little smile twitched the corners of Miyoshi’s mouth. “That’s just gross.”

“Have to agree on that though, but you gotta admit too this Kuniyoshi guy is good,” Kaminaga nudged his shoulder, “won’t you want one for yourself? I’ll buy it for you.”

Instinctively, Miyoshi pushed him back lightly in the same playful manner. “Get out, Kaminaga.”

“Only if you get out with me, then I will.”

The smile vanished instantly. _Oops._ Kaminaga punched himself mentally; one unfiltered sentence and he ruined everything they had come to since the morning. He should’ve been more careful, if the painter decided to really go and disappear after this, he would certainly make sure not to have any other accidental encounter and Kaminaga would never see him again. He was ready to retract and apologize when Miyoshi turned completely to him, his face once again inscrutable. “You really don’t know when to give up, do you?”

“Well, I’m persistent.”

“I rather call it foolishly obstinate.”

“So it’s still a no, isn’t it?” He was actually tempted for another attempt of his Cute-face Tactic, Sulking Version, but then decided that it might not be the wisest thing to do. Miyoshi was admittedly one of the few who never actually got affected by his flirtatious charm, and it was also one of the things that made him unique out of all people he ever got attracted to. What a shame Kaminaga’s younger self didn’t realize how precious Miyoshi was, and how hard it is to find someone like him.

(—Actually, he wasn’t able to find anyone he liked more than Miyoshi at all. The man might not be flawless, but all other people were always too plain, too pretentious, too superficial. If the painter called him foolish than maybe he was right, because the foolish Kaminaga needed years to realize that his heart always came back looking for Miyoshi, again and again and again.)

He smiled, weak but genuine. Fate or whatever it was might had worked on his side for them to meet again, but if there really wasn’t any wish to even have a contact from Miyoshi’s side, then obstinate or not, perhaps it was a sign for him to actually give up.

“Fine,” Miyoshi’s reply snapped him back, “then a lunch it is.”

“Pardon me?”

“You heard me,” the man was already halfway to the exit, but stopped a moment to turn to Kaminaga, giving him a slight smile, “I’ll wait at the register—and leave those notebooks here, merely seeing you already made this day insufferable enough, I don’t need the cats.”

For a moment of disbelief, Kaminaga was just standing there with mouth agape. He’d been contemplating the whole morning about the things he did wrong in the past and that it might be best to give up, but then as if a switch in his head was flicked on and his brain started to process again, he realized what was happening. A grin quickly found its way to his lips.

Almost leaping in joy as he walked to the cashier, Kaminaga found himself happily anticipating for the rest of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Western-style painting.
> 
>  ~~not so~~ fun facts:  
>  * kyoto station building has many floors, i guess they probably have it in other places too but big stations in japan usually has a department store/shopping mall attached to it
> 
> * tsukioka yoshitoshi was a japanese artist, his _muzan-e_ , or "bloody prints", are really famous
> 
> * (actually wanted to say this since the first chapter but forgot lmao) i've always wanted to write a story that's set in kyoto because i love this city so much www so thank you for reading this self-indulgent fic i love y'all


	4. it's not a lunch date, obviously

If reincarnation did exist, Miyoshi wondered just what kind of bad karma had he amassed in his previous life. Accidentally meeting Kaminaga was unfortunate, but accidentally meeting Kaminaga _twice_? He might need to drop by a shrine later, just to make sure he wasn’t cursed or something.

For no reason, he’s been in a good mood since last night and it worried him a bit. Miyoshi didn’t like feeling happy if there wasn’t any reason to, because according to experience, it was always a kind of premonition of something bad. This time it was a warning of a disaster, which came in the form of an ex who unbelievably showed up in an art exhibition— _freaking_ woodblock print exhibition—out of all types of paintings, this was the last one he expected Kaminaga would actually come to see.

Not much could be done. He could as well leave when he saw Kaminaga—which would mean the money he just paid for the entrance fee go to waste, and it’d only annoy him even more, so he ended up putting up with everything for the whole morning. But the disaster didn’t turn out to be quite a disaster after all, actually, it was rather… _fun_. Not because he was glad that he met Kaminaga (of course he didn’t, why would he?), but it’s been quite some time since anyone accompanied him to art exhibitions, or having someone to talk to while looking around. At least if he’s with somebody, he could actually voice comments without having other visitors stared at him for speaking alone. It didn’t matter that much if his companion wasn’t really following, Miyoshi just liked hearing himself talk.

Kaminaga, though, did listen. Intently, more than anybody ever did. Just like he always used to. He was the only person who never complained about having to stand for hours looking at two-dimensional objects, or having to listen to Miyoshi’s incessant talking. Even better, Kaminaga responded back seriously, providing a view from his own perspective. Assuming that he would never go to an art exhibition alone was nearly an insult, because Kaminaga had his own aesthetic sense and Miyoshi _did_ feel bad for saying that in the heat of the moment (but then again, it’s Kaminaga, so he deserved it).

Problem came at the end of the exhibition, for Miyoshi couldn’t seem to get rid of him. Kaminaga was like a stupid dog, one that got beaten again and again, yet kept coming back to his abusive owner. It might not be his luckiest day, meeting Kaminaga when he hadn’t prepared a full speech of why they would never get back together, but Miyoshi figured that he couldn’t keep being angry forever, and at some point they’d sit down somewhere to talk. The sooner was probably the better, and he kind of wanted them to be friends again anyway, so he finally agreed for a lunch— _not_ a date, all right, obviously it’s just your normal, everyday lunch.

Miyoshi led him to one of the upper floors of the station and let Kaminaga choose a restaurant. They ended up sitting in a restaurant that served something that was supposed to be a fusion between spaghetti and local ingredients—maybe it’s just him, having just recently returned to the country, but Miyoshi was a bit surprised at how people lately were just so obsessed with over-creatively combined flavors that he didn’t know what they’re actually trying to sell anymore. Kaminaga, on the other hand, looked at everything like a child in wonderland. He always had a habit of observing his surroundings and catching all the little details, almost constantly searching for an object to photograph.

He didn’t intend to stay around too long, so although he’s usually careful when ordering from a menu in a restaurant he had never been into, this time Miyoshi only picked one that looked the most normal to him and they waited for the food.

The painter then stared at his companion, waiting for him to talk, and it became clear to him that Kaminaga didn’t look quite like himself. He seemed really happy earlier, but now kept on avoiding Miyoshi’s gaze, while at the same time looking like he was also thinking hard. Perhaps he was so sure that Miyoshi wouldn’t actually agree to him that he deemed having lunch together this soon was highly improbable, so when Miyoshi took up his offer out of the blue, the man was taken aback. The Kaminaga who didn’t know what to say was to be honest, pretty adorable, especially since guys like him were more bearable when they shut up.

The drinks came first. Miyoshi waited a bit more for the waiter to place two glasses of iced _matcha_ on the table before initiating a conversation. After all, this would only take longer if none of them tried to talk. He decided to start with a normal topic and see how things would go from there. “So, how do you find Kyoto so far?”

It instantly brought Kaminaga’s attention back to him, and somewhat impressively, not a single hint of nervousness was in his voice when he replied, “Terrific, you won’t believe how fast my camera runs out of memory cards here.”

“How long have you been in the city?”

“Since last week.”

“You’re staying for long?”

“Yeah,” Kaminaga said, “a few months, actually.”

“Oh?” Miyoshi casually stirred his tea. “Pardon me, I just assumed that you’re here for vacation. Should’ve first asked what brought you here.”

“Actually, though, I was kinda glad that wasn’t your first question, didn’t want this to turn so depressing right from the get go,” he gave a slight smile before taking a sip of his own drink, “but I guess sooner or later we’ll come to this part anyway.”

“Did something happen?”

“Um, you remember my uncle,” Kaminaga paused a little before continuing, “the one who’s also a photographer?”

“Maeda-san?”

“That one. Well,” he paused again, longer this time, “he passed away.”

Miyoshi’s hand stopped, the ice clinked in his glass. He had only met the said uncle for a few times before, but knew that he was one of the people Kaminaga was closest to, and could see how much influence the man had on his nephew. In fact, his uncle was the one who supported Kaminaga the most when he decided to be a photographer, even though he had the brain to practically get into any major. It must have been a terrible loss. As much as Miyoshi hated Kaminaga, he still wouldn’t hope anything that dreadful to happen to him—or to anyone, on that matter (despite the rumor going around saying otherwise, Miyoshi did have some conscience).

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Miyoshi hoped he came across as sincere enough, since he was never good at dealing with anything emotional. But this was Kaminaga, and the man knew him well enough to know if his sympathy was genuine. The man merely smiled as a response, but his eyes said _thank you_.

Their food came with a great timing, and before it got too awkward, two plates of spaghetti were on the table. The photographer threw off his grim expression as he eyed for the meal, quickly reaching for his phone and snapping a few pictures. Kaminaga didn’t look like he had coped with his uncle’s death completely, but Miyoshi knew too he’d talk more when he’s ready.

“You’ll post that?” Miyoshi asked, trying to lighten up the mood a bit as well.

“Only if it turns out to be good later,” Kaminaga glanced at him with a smirk on his lips, “shall I caption this ‘a lunch date with Mr. Painter’ and tag you?”

“No, thank you.” See? Kaminaga’s way cuter with his mouth closed. “And besides, I’m still blocking you, you know, on Instagram too.”

“Yeah, on my first account,” he snapped some more pictures, for what must be like five hundred different angles already, “but I still have another that—oh, never mind.”

“You what?” Miyoshi blinked, but in no time his brain grasped the implication. “Kaminaga, don’t tell me you—”

“Forget about that,” Kaminaga cut him with a laugh, setting his phone down quickly, “let’s get back to my uncle. You haven’t asked why I’ll be staying for long but I’ll tell you anyway. He didn’t marry, so he left most of his things to me, including a property, here in Kyoto.”

He nodded to show that he was listening. There’s still a possibility that Kaminaga made multiple accounts to stalk his Instagram, but Miyoshi would get him later for that.

“And this property is a _machiya_ ,”[1] Kaminaga continued as he began digging in to his spaghetti, “that kind of house is way too troublesome and expensive for me to maintain, so I thought of selling it as soon as I could. But then I thought again, ‘hey a little change of pace might be good,’ so I left my apartment to a friend and decided to stay here for a bit.”

Miyoshi couldn’t see suddenly moving in to a completely different city as a “little” change of pace, but he made no comment on that. Instead, he took a forkful of his pasta and mulled over his own reasons for returning to Japan.

“The food kinda looks questionable, but it actually tastes pretty good.”

“Seconded.”

“Anyway, enough about me,” Kaminaga said, “let’s hear about you too. You don’t seem like on a vacation to me.” 

“I’m living in Kyoto now.”

“Permanently?”

Miyoshi shrugged his shoulders, partly because he hadn’t planned on what to do next, but he’d probably be staying in the city for a while. He could always move again, though, if Kaminaga was to be proven as too much of a nuisance, or if the man decided to stay for good so he could pester him. Miyoshi would surely find another place to live in, the world is not _that_ small. It was infuriating how they could just accidentally meet in the same city; the probability was to laugh at, but sometimes reality turned out to be beyond ridiculous.

“You’ve been here long?”

“Not really, just a few months.”

“But that’s enough time for you to know this city better than me, right, care to be my guide?” Kaminaga winked an eye.

“I humbly refuse.”

“Don’t be so formal!” Kaminaga let out a hearty, melodic laugh, and Miyoshi wondered how someone could be so annoying while irresistible at the same time. The painter too, was still impressed at how the other man was able to be this friendly, considering how long they haven’t talked and how many times he had rejected Kaminaga; it was almost as if nothing happened. “But come on, we gotta spend time together while we can, I’m only here throughout this winter and spring, you know, I’ll probably go back to Tokyo around June or before that.”

“Good to hear, you make the winter here unbearably hot already, summer with you would be hell.”

Kaminaga wasn’t fazed, a grin rather wide on his face. “You mean because I’m _hot_?”

When Miyoshi neither made a comeback nor deny, the photographer turned red in seconds. Kaminaga must’ve still remembered that he didn’t like lying. If Miyoshi didn’t want to answer something, he would just give a noncommittal reply that’s one way or another ambiguous, or he’d simply stay silent. That kind of response didn’t necessarily mean he agreed or disagreed— _so_ _good luck figuring out which_. Miyoshi held back a smug face; it’s really satisfying watching Kaminaga got flustered by his own words.

“S-say something, will you.”

“Look,” Miyoshi twirled his fork, “this talking thing will never work if you’re only trying to get into my pants in every five seconds.”

“Mean,” pouting, his cheeks still blushed a bit, “I was actually trying to get into your heart.”

Miyoshi laughed softly. “But you know what people say, I don’t have one.”

Kaminaga’s lips formed a smile, a genuine one. “Well,” he said fondly, “they just don’t know you.”

“You’re paying the bill.”

“Why?!”

He wasn’t exactly sure how it happened, but the conversation flowed effortlessly after that, Kaminaga might be annoying, but he had always been easy to talk to. From some more inquiries Miyoshi made out of common courtesy—because he’s a decent, civilized human being, not because he cared—he learned that the house Kaminaga occupied currently was in Shimogyo Ward, which was probably why he hung around the nearby Shijo shopping streets when they first came across each other the other day.

Kaminaga then asked when and why he returned to Japan, and though Miyoshi only answered the first half of the question, the photographer didn’t press for the rest. He was careful not to mention anything about their past as well, and rambled only about the things and events in the country that the painter had missed in the recent years. They also went on about woodblock prints they saw earlier and stuff that Miyoshi recommended the other to try or visit.

The photographer still unconsciously flirted from time to time, but Miyoshi regarded it as normal for someone who only thinks with his crotch, so he ignored most of it. Before both of them realized, they had finished their meal. Kaminaga, though unwillingly, followed the other to the cashier and stopped him before he could take out his wallet. “On me.”

“I was only kidding about the bill,” Miyoshi said.

“I know.” He paid for both of them nonetheless.

He waited for Kaminaga outside, standing near the restaurant’s display window. Dealing with him didn’t turn out to be as difficult, Miyoshi thought, despite his assumptions before, Kaminaga did change. He couldn’t explain what exactly, but there was just a sort of different air about the man, almost like he matured or something. Miyoshi didn’t deny the fact that he sometimes still felt the urge to punch Kaminaga in the face, but perhaps this could really work out without getting anybody injured. After all, before everything happened, they were best friends, getting back to that might not be that hard if Miyoshi would just start to forgive him little by little.

Not long after, the _noren_[2] curtains on the restaurant’s entrance were parted and Kaminaga appeared. “Thanks for today.”

The painter shook his head lightly. “I should be the one saying that, you treated me.”

“No, I’m just glad that you actually still wanna talk to me.” Kaminaga laughed.

“I didn’t, initially.” Miyoshi paused, waiting for the other a bit but he didn’t seem to have anything else to say. He then brushed imaginary dust off his coat and nodded politely, “Well, good day.”

“See you again—oh wait, I haven’t gotten your contact…,” Kaminaga looked unsure, “that, if you don’t mind.”

“I’ll unblock you later.”

Kaminaga beamed. “So it means there’ll be a next time?”

Miyoshi didn’t answer, only showing him a tiny smile before turning away.

The other called out from behind, his voice was cheerful, “Do you have plans for New Year?” Quickly, he added without waiting for a reply, “I’ll be at Yasaka Shrine!”

Miyoshi snorted, _as if he’d come_. For a moment he was tempted to turn around, telling the photographer that it was unnecessary to inform him, but Miyoshi thought he’d already been nice enough today, and Kaminaga should realize that he ought not to hope too high.

Without so much as turning his head, Miyoshi headed for the elevator and called it a day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Traditional wooden townhouses.
> 
> [2] Traditional fabric dividers; partition curtains.


	5. a daydreaming idiot, was and still

** ten years ago **

Call him a sappy, romantic idiot, but Kaminaga actually fell in love with Miyoshi’s paintings at first sight. Yes, only his _paintings_ , not the person himself. To be honest too, Kaminaga never thought that he’d someday be head over heels for that stuck-up jerk—but what’s the fun in life if everything always goes like how you predict it anyway.

It was late autumn during his second year of high school. They were having the cultural festival, which in truth, he had mostly lost interest in. Kaminaga was in the school newspaper team, a club he joined in order to have a “legit” reason to carry around a camera. He had wanted to start a photography club then, but could never gather enough members. Finding models were entirely a different story, though. Kaminaga had already been popular with the girls even during that time, and many were willing to help, but he was only interested to form the club with people who genuinely had the same passion. Kaminaga was indeed more idealistic when he was younger.

Since they were doing coverage for the whole festival, each member of the newspaper club was assigned a task. Kaminaga’s job was to write about what other clubs were doing, so he hoped to find something interesting. His last year’s assignment was to cover the classes’ projects, and Kaminaga found them having ordinary stuff like cafes, haunted houses, music performance, such and such… it was more or less the same things since middle school, so nothing in particular impressed him.

The first stop for that morning was the judo club. He stayed there watching through the whole demonstration, happy to get some dramatic photos caught at the right moments. Kaminaga might not have that much interest in martial arts, but he had to admit that the head of the club, who happened to be his friend, Hatano, was impressive despite his small built. Well, he had always known that Hatano was skilled, but Kaminaga never imagined that he would be _that_ good—so good in the level that if the world was suddenly facing a zombie apocalypse and he could only pick one person to fight alongside with, Kaminaga would not think twice to have Hatano with him. Ah, but who knew that this friend of his was actually camera-shy? Kaminaga teased him endlessly during the interview and after, until Hatano practically kicked him out of his club’s practice hall.

He’d be stopping by some more clubs before doing coverage for the cooking club—which, out of wisdom and careful consideration, he had planned to visit at just around lunchtime—it was supposed to be his most exciting agenda of the day… until Kaminaga completely forgotten all about it when he went into the art room.

Kaminaga hadn’t heard that much from the club before, but apparently they were having a small art exhibition. There’s nothing surprising—it’s to be expected of them, in fact—but this time, without any intention to diss other aspiring artist’s works he had seen of the school art club before, Kaminaga found the best one out of them all.

Those paintings caught Kaminaga’s eyes the moment he entered. Their lines were soft with blurred colors on the edges, laden with fine shades and delicate spots of light; glowing yet subtle. Despite being two dimensional, there’s a certain kind of dynamic in the drawings that he could almost see their life and movement. Most of those paintings depicted cities, people walking in front of a streetcar or train, lines of umbrellas under a drizzling sky, or little footprints in the snow. They weren’t telling about special events at a specific time, rather, they were paintings of mundane, everyday life—just tiny pieces of reality in the world they lived in. Simple, honest, and charming. At that time Kaminaga hadn’t actually realized, but this was the kind of photographs he wanted to produce, these were the bits of life he wanted to capture and show people.

On the information plaques for each of those paintings, _Miyoshi K._ was written, but without the first name, there’s no way to know whether this undeniably talented painter was a cute girl or a dude (not that Kaminaga had much of a preference, though). That one student stood out even more when Kaminaga realized they were the only one who wrote their name in Latin, and not in kanji like everyone else did. So, whether they were a unique artist opposed to the idea of conformity, or they just really knew how to ingeniously attract attention (turned out it was the latter, and for the most part it was actually because he’s an insufferable narcissist).

On his way out Kaminaga interviewed the black-haired freshman who waited on the reception desk, whom later he would know as Jitsui—another person Kaminaga wouldn’t want to get on his bad side, because if the zombie apocalypse analogy was to be used again, this seemingly kind and harmless Jitsui would most likely be the mad scientist who developed the virus responsible for the whole catastrophe—oh, and he was also the one who’s held accountable for all those gruesome, bloody paintings that somehow had found their way into the exhibition.

Kaminaga’s inquiries were the standard stuff, how the art club came up with the project theme, the process, the difficulties, and even praised some artworks that he liked personally as well, saving what he actually cared the most for the last question. When he finally asked about _Miyoshi K._ , Jitsui told him that the student was not on shift that afternoon, so he went to see other clubs. If only Kaminaga had forgotten to look at his watch and realized that he was already late for the cooking club, he would’ve chosen to wait there until Miyoshi came back.

Following that day, young Kaminaga’s mind was filled with his visualization of the mysterious painter. How did he paint, why did he choose those objects, what did he look like? Did he have a small built, with an adorable little smile, or tall with an ever-present poker face like that Fukumoto guy from the cooking club? Was he as elegant as his paintings, or more of the carefree type like Kaminaga himself? The more he thought about him, the more he got overwhelmed on his own. What should Kaminaga say when they actually meet, _Hello, I know this is sudden, but I think I fell in love with your paintings—and it seems too, I’d easily fall for the brilliant artist who could paint something so lovely?_

Waiting and thinking for too long was not at all Kaminaga’s style, but he got so busy he hadn’t had the time to look for Miyoshi. He kept wondering until weeks later, when he finally found out that indeed, everything in life was always more exciting if it didn’t go as expected.

* * *

When did the last time Kaminaga visit a big shrine on New Year? It’s been so long that he had almost forgotten how crowded it was, how many food stalls were there, and how long the line of _omamori_[1] buyers formed in front of the amulet office. Often, the ring of a bell traversed the air, adding a nice touch to the crackling sound of pebbles under hundreds pairs of shoes. It was fun in an odd way, making him felt like being in a summer festival crowd—minus the music, fireworks, and of course, the heat.

When was the last time he got this excited? Kaminaga couldn’t remember well either. When did the last time he came much earlier than the appointed time to wait for his company, complete with all the hope and anxiety? He might have forgotten about that too, even though he always prided himself on how good his memory was. Maybe the cold froze his brain’s function, or he simply became more of an idiot, since only now Kaminaga realized, that he didn’t recall ever making an appointment with anybody at all.

Kaminaga sat at one of the stone steps inside the Yasaka Shrine grounds, thinking over his decision to come. Well, he _did_ tell Miyoshi that he’d be here on New Year’s Eve, but the man never said anything in return and there was no guarantee he’d come either. Besides, Kaminaga hadn’t told him about the time, and up to this second, he hadn’t heard more from Miyoshi. Probably Kaminaga just got so worked up with all things happening lately that he felt, the so-called fate would also lead them to meet again today. _Whoops_ , too bad, Kaminaga, real life doesn’t work that way and perhaps you consumed too much of those cheesy TV dramas.

The photographer blew warm air into his hands and rubbed them together, hiding a quiet laugh at his own stupidity under his breath. Once Miyoshi did say, that he dreamed too much for someone who’s actually a realist, and he was right; Kaminaga was indeed a daydreamer, _a_ _daydreaming idiot_.

“You’ll freeze to death if you keep sitting out here.”

A teasing voice came from his behind, and it really sounded like someone he knew, but Kaminaga thought he already hoped too much for one night. Had to admit that he might look pretty sad sitting there waiting by himself, but Kaminaga sure didn’t come here to be pitied on by a stranger. “Oh, don’t worry, I’ve had it worse,” he replied with faked cheerfulness, turning his head to add a clever comeback, “sorry, but— _eh_ , Miyoshi?”

The man was staring down at him, smiling as a greeting while half of his chin was buried under a blue muffler. He was wearing a dark grey coat—or it could be black, but hard for Kaminaga to tell since the lights weren’t so bright—and gloves of the same color. There was a paper cup in each of his hands, and one was offered to Kaminaga. “ _Amazake_?”[2]

“Thanks.” Kaminaga received the drink, still processing. His fingers immediately wrapped around the cup, wondering at how Miyoshi managed to find him. In the end, though, he only gave him his usual grin. “So, is this a sign that you’ve finally warmed up to me?”

“No, this is called being civil.” Miyoshi stepped down the stairs and sat beside him. “You don’t look very pleased, expecting somebody else?”

“No, I was just starting to think that you wouldn’t come.”

“Well, I didn’t say I’d come, did I?” Miyoshi took a sip of his own drink and Kaminaga couldn’t argue with that. “I just happened to pass this area, so I thought I might as well drop by.”

“I appreciate that.”

“Just finish it before it gets cold.”

Miyoshi might disliked lying, but it didn’t make him a straightforward man. In other times, Kaminaga might as well press, but whether it was just an excuse or Miyoshi was telling the truth, he wanted to stop thinking now. The fact that they actually met again was already good enough. Without so much as a comment, the photographer brought the paper cup to his lips and took a sip, letting the sweet, thick drink down his throat. None of the two was a big fan of sweet, but anything warm would be nice in this kind of weather.

“You’re staring.” He realized that Miyoshi was looking at the camera hanging from his neck, with a smile that’s slightly mocking.

“Carrying that around all the time, what are you, a tourist?”

“What do you expect, I’m a photographer!” Kaminaga laughed. “And it’s New Year’s Eve, I can’t resist the urge to capture the moment.”

“At least have your gloves on while you’re at it,” Miyoshi said, “like normal people would.”

“I did have them on,” he replied, “at least until the _temizuya_[3], then I started taking photos and you know I never liked wearing gloves while working with my camera.”

The other man rolled his eyes, but a tiny smile was peeking out of the corners of his lips. Slowly, they finished the amazake quietly. If only the situation was different, it’d probably be awkward sitting in silence side by side with an ex, but Miyoshi was actually the only person Kaminaga felt most comfortable keeping his mouth shut with, without trying so much to initiate a conversation or playing the mood maker all the time.

When the two were together, Kaminaga was allowed to watch the world surrounding him, to listen as the Earth rotated and life revolved around them, as well as other musings that would have others laughing if he ever told them (hey, Kaminaga might not look like it, but he’s quite capable of being, you know, _deep_ —okay, blame those philosophy classes in college). Miyoshi was one of the few people who could and wanted to accept him more than the happy-go-lucky Kaminaga, and regarded him as equal—or _used to_ , Kaminaga did mess up, after all—but at least he’s now glad that Miyoshi no longer stared at him like everything that left his mouth was bullshit.

“Hey, have you prayed?” Kaminaga found himself suddenly asking.

“For what?”

“I don’t know,” he said, “but it’s New Year, you gotta wish for something.”

One of Miyoshi’s eyebrows lifted, obviously skeptical, and most likely ready to launch a cynical remark. Though when he did open his mouth, his comment wasn’t half spiteful. “Now what are you, a schoolboy?”

“Oh, come on,” Kaminaga smiled and rose to his feet, throwing his empty paper cup to a nearby trash can, “maybe you don’t believe in those gods, but praying a little won’t hurt.”

Somehow, he managed to convince Miyoshi and the painter followed him to one of the smaller shrines. They stood shoulder to shoulder, tossed a coin, bowed at the same time and clapped their hands twice. Kaminaga knew better than to hope too high, and so the man only wished that he and Miyoshi could make up, even if they would only return to being friends in the end. If there would be a miracle and they could go back to being lovers, Kaminaga supposed it would take a lot more than visiting shrines and praying to entities he didn’t even completely have faith in. Finishing his prayer, Kaminaga bowed deeply once more, and waited for the man beside him to finish with his own. For someone who never seemed to believe in deities, Miyoshi certainly took his time; let’s just hope he wasn’t praying for Kaminaga’s painful demise or something like that.

“What plans you have after this?” Kaminaga asked as they walked away from the little shrine.

“Why do you ask?”

“Well, I haven’t got a proper dinner,” he replied, “I was thinking if maybe, you wanna….”

“Are you still assuming,” Miyoshi began, “that just because we’re in the same place at the same time, it means we’re also hanging out together?”

“Oh god,” Kaminaga whined, “can you stop that? I’m only trying to be friendly.”

“Whether you’re just being friendly or blatantly flirting, it’s actually hard to tell.”

“You’re reading too much into it, you damn narcissist.”

Miyoshi laughed, in the most genuine way Kaminaga had ever heard since they met again. His cheeks and nose were slightly red from the cold, and his head dropped low that his chin was now completely hidden under his muffler. Kaminaga instinctively wanted to capture that face with his camera, but he merely stood there, fixated. There was indeed a time when he didn’t want to photograph those rare smiles—the smiles that were only meant for Kaminaga alone—and chose to carve them into his memories instead, because by that way, he would be the only one who saw Miyoshi’s honest expression. Somewhat ridiculous and perhaps childish, but still gratifying.

“All right,” Miyoshi finally said, still with a hint of smile on his lips, “where do you want to go?”

Failing at trying not to look too excited, Kaminaga replied while grinning, “You know the places around here better than I do, now’s a good chance to play the guide.”

“I wonder if we’d get a table,” Miyoshi mused, “it’s New Year, every place would most likely be packed around this hour.”

“I don’t mind waiting.”

“I do.” They walked passed the main gate of Yasaka Shrine and reached the front stairs outside. The two climbed down, heading toward the zebra cross. Even in the cold, the sidewalk was crowded. They were waiting for the pedestrian light to turn green when Miyoshi pulled out his phone. “But maybe, I know somewhere we could get a seat, I’ll text them now.”

“Are you talking about one of those exclusive, high-class restaurants?” Kaminaga asked.

“What? No—well, I don’t mind going to that kind of place, but you’ll be paying the bill again.” Miyoshi made something akin to a snort, though it sounded too refined to be called one. “It’s more of a bar, actually.”

“Someone you know works there?”

“He’s the owner,” Miyoshi’s brown orbs glanced at the traffic light, “and it’s someone _we_ know.”

“Seriously? Who?”

“An old friend.”

The light for pedestrian turned green, and the painter nudged the photographer by the elbow, urging him to start crossing. **  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Amulets.
> 
> [2] Traditional sweet Japanese drink made from fermented rice.
> 
> [3] A small pavilion with water-filled basins, where worshippers wash their hands and mouth before approaching the main Shinto shrine.


	6. the heart that he left

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... this semester murdered me :'D
> 
> but my love for kamimiyo called me back from my grave and so here i am trying to roll back into my writing routine! miss this ship so much sjdgavkl feel both happy and guilty every time i received kudos notifs for this fic because like whoa, never thought people would actually read it :") anyway, i'm really sorry for the delay, thank you for those (if there's still any) who've been patiently waiting, hopefully this one can be completed before spring's break over and all hell breaks loose again, i'll try my best—enjoy reading!

If anyone asked, Miyoshi wouldn’t say that he was a perfectionist.

He might be quite a dreamer, but he’d always been realistic about his dreams. Perfection is an impossibility, that much he knew, but once he decided on something, he would always give everything he had—it’s about doing the best, or none at all. For that, Miyoshi disliked second chances. If a relationship ended tragically at the first try, then there must be a reason for that. Sometimes there were just things that weren’t meant to be, and that’s _fine_. He did everything he could, after all, and didn’t see any point in trying again for something so useless. People should just move on; that’s why he left.

Unfortunately, though, Kaminaga was persistent. Unfortunately as well, getting rid of him (or removing himself from that fool) without real physical distance between them turned out to be harder that he thought.

But no, of course Miyoshi didn’t deliberately visit that particular shrine just because he wanted to see Kaminaga or something of the like, no, _of course not_ , neither did he have any special intention when he bought the photographer a drink from one of the stalls. It’s called being _civil_ , note that, because he was raised well and properly taught of common courtesy. Why would he care if Kaminaga’s hands got cold in this weather? That’s his own fault for always being so stubborn about the no-gloves policy during work.

Okay, maybe he did care, _a little_. He had made up his mind to befriend Kaminaga again after all, and although people said Miyoshi only cared about himself (not entirely a wrong assumption, though), he genuinely cared for his friends’ well-being, a lot more than he would admit. And if only that man would tone down the flirting a little bit, Kaminaga wasn’t actually that bad. Sure, he could be insufferable sometimes, but Miyoshi had always been fond of his company, and even more of his zeal as well as cheerful personality. Hard to believe how easy it was for him to rope Miyoshi into almost everything, like how he made them pray for a good new year (to the gods he didn’t even believe in, no less). He was pretty sure Kaminaga didn’t plan it, and merely got that idea because they were in the right place at the right moment; _spontaneity_ , it’s always been the one thing that Miyoshi lack of but Kaminaga complemented him.

As he mulled silently, Miyoshi made them walk in the direction of Kamo River, passing rows of shops and small restaurants. It might be New Year’s Eve, but the number of people in those streets was the same as ever, if not even more. Funny how just a few weeks ago, in a street as crowded as these, they could somehow run into each other— _cursed_ , Miyoshi must’ve had done something exceptionally bad and meeting Kaminaga again was his punishment from life. That’s it. There’s no other explanation, logical or not.

He stole a glance to the man on his side, who still found the time to raise his camera and took a couple of pictures when they halted at another traffic light. _But even a curse must be faced, right?_ Miyoshi wasn’t one to run away, and although this was someone he’d prefer not to have any business with anymore, he’d deal with it if there’s really no other way.

They crossed the bridge and took the turn to Pontocho, squeezing themselves through the narrow alley, walking in between paper lanterns and restaurants adorned with glowing nameplates. It’s actually a nice area, as long as you don’t accidentally get into a place that’s unproportionally expensive. But Miyoshi did know a great bar, flanked by restaurants on the side of the street that was opposite to the river.

The building of the bar itself was a renovated machiya, with a front face that was covered in wooden lattice. Two stylized kanji that read as _Shanghai_ were written on the dark blue noren curtains hung above the entrance, which got separated when Miyoshi parted his way in. He slid open the door, and the bartender behind the counter shifted so he could face the door to greet. Fukumoto gave a nod the instant he saw him, but then his eyebrows climbed up so high when he recognized who was coming right behind the expected customer; while Miyoshi did tell Fukumoto he’d come, he never said with whom.

“Holy shit,” Kaminaga exclaimed, earning a glance from a woman in the nearest seat, but he didn’t seem to care, “Fukumoto? Fukumoto, isn’t it?”

“Kaminaga.” The bartender nodded once more, while still wiping a glass in his hands. Miyoshi had to admit he was quite impressed at how it was only Fukumoto’s eyebrows that moved but other parts of his face remained expressionless—it must’ve been an acquired skill.

“Dude!” He looked about to jump forward, like he wanted to give Fukumoto either an excited handshake or a full-fledged hug, but then stopped himself by leaning his elbows on the counter. “How long has it been already, where the hell have you been all this time?” Kaminaga wasn’t exceptionally close to Fukumoto, but the three of them could be considered as good friends, remembering how often he and Kaminaga hung around with Fukumoto’s cooking club back in high school, although none of the two were official members. Like Miyoshi, Kaminaga must’ve lost contact with Fukumoto after they graduated, most of them did. The painter had actually only found out about his bar here in Kyoto through someone else’s recommendation.

“I could ask you the same,” Fukumoto replied, with a small but good-natured smile that seemed only reserved for closest friends.

“I stayed in Tokyo like Tazaki and Amari,” Kaminaga rattled, as he always did when he’s excited, “traveling all the time, and trying out other places to live in from time to time, so now here I am in Kyoto. How about you, though? I swear you guys just, literally disappeared after high school—god, I miss your cooking.”

“I was in Shanghai for some time,” the bartender said calmly, unperturbed by Kaminaga’s pace, “then decided I wanted a bar in Japan and started living here a couple years ago.”

“Does that also explain the bar’s name?”

His smile lingered, but Fukumoto gave nothing more as an answer than to shrug his shoulders mysteriously (Miyoshi was actually more concern about how he even acquired this kind of place in an area like this, but had a faint feeling that he might not really want to know). Placing down the glass he’d cleaned, the bartender glanced at Miyoshi. “So, you two want to have the private room?”

“No, thank you,” Miyoshi said at the same time Kaminaga said, “Sure.”

Those eyebrows raised again, and Miyoshi swore the way his eyes lit up now was meant to be teasing even though his lips had returned into a flat line. “The table, then.”

He almost said that the counter seat would be fine for them, but then realized that all chairs were occupied. That left the available options to only a low table on the tatami mats, or an entirely private room at the rear of the bar. He shrugged mentally and let Fukumoto take their first order, before leading them both to the said table. Miyoshi crossed the room without a sound, to the part where the floor was elevated and took off his shoes before slipping behind the wooden partition. Kaminaga followed him shortly after, taking a place across from him at the table. Closed off by the partition from the rest of the bar on one side, his eyes went to the wide glass window on the other side, which gave them a perfect view to the courtyard garden that was illuminated by dim, yellow lights. It’s a nice scene to the cozy atmosphere, and Fukumoto’s effort to keep the inner part of that townhouse like how it’s originally built was worth an appreciation.

Ever since living in Kyoto, Miyoshi had been coming to the bar pretty often. He was just casually dropping by at first, but then began to know a few regulars there and made it his weekly habit to come and have a drink or two. It’s somewhat refreshing being able to chat with a bunch of people from all different sorts of backgrounds and professions that were completely out of his art-related circle, like finally giving himself the long overdue break he deserved. He might even dare to say he’s particularly close to some acquaintances, including two police officers—who one happened to be his former classmate in high school, Odagiri. Miyoshi didn’t have that many recollections of him since he transferred during their second year, but he remembered that he was Fukumoto’s best friend back then.

When Fukumoto finally came to their table, Miyoshi didn’t miss the way the bartender eyed them. The painter stared back at him with a look that he hoped was intimidating enough, because although he never talked much, Miyoshi had a long-standing suspicion that Fukumoto was a gossipmonger (no, not quite in the way Kaminaga was, but more in the way an information broker worked—which was essentially scarier).

“This one’s on the house,” he said as he set down the glasses from the tray.

“Whoa, thanks, Fukumoto!” Kaminaga didn’t hold back his grin, lifting his glass as soon as they were left alone. “ _Kanpai_?”

“To what?”

“To you and me becoming friends again?”

“You’re really persistent, aren’t you?”

“Only when I truly care about something—or someone.”

He didn’t know if it was a possible thing to do, but the grin on the man’s face grew even wider. Miyoshi met his glass in a repressed clink, and only after the first sip that he said, “You know, there’s actually something you could do to make this whole thing a lot easier.”

“For example?”

“By not flirting.”

Kaminaga half laughed, half snorted. “Seeing your reactions worth the try.”

“Listen,” Miyoshi said, a bit sharper than what he intended to be, “what if I told you I was seeing somebody else?”

There, he dropped a bomb. Miyoshi wasn’t sure what had made him say it, but when he’s really annoyed there was always this fierce instinct to demolish his opponent, in the most effective way possible. To kill a good atmosphere must be his innate talent or something. The smile vanished faster than a blink, replaced by something that was hard to name—perhaps guilt, or hurt?—as if that possibility had never crossed his mind before and Miyoshi’s words found him like a punch to the gut. Whatever it was, it’s certainly not an expression he liked seeing on Kaminaga’s face (though he was the very cause of it, _ha_ , the irony).

“Right,” his gaze climbed down, pretending that the ice cubes at the bottom of his glass were something exquisite, “sorry.”

Miyoshi only replied in a monosyllabic hum. It’s not an answer, but what Kaminaga said wasn’t a question either.

If there’s another inborn talent that he possessed, then it must be turning every situation into an awkward one. They dropped the subject without another word; the painter busied himself with a piece of tissue paper while a very pensive Kaminaga sitting across him unmoving, still fixated on his drink. Well, human relations were never Miyoshi’s strong suit, after all. He’s sure he’s charming in his own way, but sometimes the right words just didn’t come to him, and was probably why he’s always been better at transferring his thoughts as well as feelings into a canvas. Silence with Kaminaga was usually a comfortable one, but now even he felt like bolting out of the door and just calling it off on the whole trying to be friends again thing.

Someone at the other end of the bar laughed loudly, and the suddenness of it seemed enough to throw them both out of the trance-like quality of their muteness. Miyoshi returned his eyes to the man in front of him just as Kaminaga looked up. He seemed hesitant for a moment, but when his smile returned, it was much more genuine than anything Miyoshi had seen for the night. “I miss your paintings.”

The confession was so out of the blue and straightforward that it caught him off guard. His knee-jerk reaction was to say _excuse me_ while regaining composure, but Kaminaga was staring and knew Miyoshi had heard him clearly. Throughout his life Miyoshi had heard hundreds of flatteries aimed towards himself—and he’s aware that he deserved them because he’s indeed infatuating, _duh_ —but not many realized that comments on his paintings in fact meant much more to him, and it’s hard not to get a little flustered when he knew the compliment came from somebody who’s genuine and actually able to comprehend the meanings behind his works.

In the end, he settled for taking a sip of his own drink, buying time before coming out with a reply, “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen your photos too.”

“They’re actually always up for everyone to see, if, you know,” Kaminaga raised his eyebrows playfully, “if only _someone_ cared enough to unblock me.”

Miyoshi’s laugh caught in between a snort and a chuckle. “I remember how your pictures were always so bright and colorful,” he tried keeping on topic, “like it might as well be the end of the world, but you would definitely manage to make it gleeful and lively.”

The photographer tapped his fingers thoughtfully at the corner of his coaster. “Recently I produce more monochromatic photos, though—black and white, mostly.”

“Have any particular reason for it?”

Kaminaga had looked like he wanted to say something, but changed his mind at the last second and answered in a dismissive manner, “Just trying out something new.” Miyoshi didn’t press further. “Anyway, have you painted any typical Kyoto scene? Bet it’d look lovely in your style—and don’t give me that smile, I know better than to flatter a narcissist like you.”

The earlier tension quickly dissipated, and Miyoshi let out a restrained laugh once more, trying not to think too much of how easy it was to be carefree in Kaminaga’s company. “Actually, I haven’t, though I’ve been thinking of making a new series.”

“Oh, you definitely should!” Suddenly cheerful again, he took his camera out of its bag. “I got some scenes that you might be interested in. Have you seen this street where they….”

Falling back into talking about something they both love, admittedly, was something very easy to do, and Miyoshi enjoyed every second they spent there. Glasses were emptied and new drinks were ordered, as they kept on chatting while time steadily rolled closer into midnight. The two consciously avoided topics that both of them had yet wanted to broach, while acting like the awkward moment they got into before had never happened. At some point Miyoshi might even forget he had ever been so angry at him. Talking to Kaminaga made him realize that what had happened in the past perhaps no longer be that relevant to how they were now—not too much, at least—but the photographer might deserve a chance, even if it’s just as friends.

They’d work on it somehow. 

* * *

_“Congratulations, Miyoshi-san,” Jitsui said, “you’ve just earned a new secret admirer.”_

_“Excuse me?”_

_“That boy from the newspaper club,” Jitsui continued without lifting his head from his sketch, “a second year.”_

_“Which one?” Miyoshi’s eyebrows furrowed. He took a glance to the easel next to him and found his fellow club member was drawing something that had an eerie resemblance to a gallows. He carefully mixed a color while he waited for Jitsui to answer._

_“Oh, haven’t I told you? Whom did I talk to about it, then.” He rolled his eyes at that, though the other wasn’t looking. Jitsui didn’t just forget things. Miyoshi knew him well enough to know that it was his way of teasing. “He keeps stalking outside of my classroom ever since he saw your paintings in the cultural festival, wonder how long will it take for him to realize that we’re actually not in the same class.”_

_“What does it have to do with me, then,” he replied indifferently, earning a low, melodic chuckle from Jitsui._

As it turned out, it did have _a lot_ to do with him. Miyoshi unlocked his front door and kicked his shoes off while the old memory had somehow found its way to the surface of his consciousness despite the haziness. He dragged himself into the bathroom to take a quick shower, determined to wash himself off the cigarette smell from the bar. Miyoshi took his time adjusting the water temperature—if he wasn’t careful, this could turn into a major headache in the morning—but even under the influence of alcohol, his mind found it hard to stop thinking, and he ended up recalling how Kaminaga and he first knew each other.

After days of teasing, something inside Jitsui’s supposedly heartless chest somehow gathered pity for Kaminaga and told him which class Miyoshi was actually in, even to the extent of making sure the upperclassman knew which face actually had the name _Miyoshi K._ , and that’s how the two finally met, more or less. The introductions had been short, cut by the bell that signified the end of break time. All Kaminaga managed to say before that was what he’d known from Jitsui, _“Saw your paintings in the art club exhibition some weeks ago_ , _”_ he remembered how the boy before him had looked sheepish, _“I guess you could say that I got interested?”_

He hadn’t thought much about in the beginning, but it was always nice to know somebody liked his paintings enough to actually take the trouble to reach out to him. They exchanged social media, and Miyoshi found himself instantly drawn into Kaminaga’s photos. His posts hadn’t been consistent at that time, snaps of food and friends in between pictures of cities and streets, but other than that, he could see the pattern that was threaded into his works; things that Kaminaga wanted to convey, things that he wanted other people to see. His photos had always been laden with life dynamics—busy crossings, myriad colors in spring, sparks of fireworks over the night sky in a summer festival—they weren’t just mere objects, they’re alive, moving, and telling stories. Unpretentious, yet still eye-catching. Kaminaga had always known how to see the beauty in all the little things.

Miyoshi sat on the edge of his bed after drying his hair. He’s tired and sleepy, but something was still stuck at the corner of his thoughts. Grabbing his smartphone and opening up Instagram, he finally unblocked that one particular account he’d been ignoring completely in the last few years. Scrolling down, he had almost expected to find the liveliness that was Kaminaga’s trademark, the contrast and vividness that always filled his photos. But true to the man’s words earlier, his posts over the last twelve months were dominated by monochromatic pictures, of which most of them were black and white. Hard to believe that the striking change was just a part of “trying out something new”; he knew Kaminaga, although he tried to make it sound superficial, there must be something much more significant than that.

A message came in while he was still musing. Miyoshi hadn’t opened it, but he could read it through the preview box; _I had just finished work. Sorry it’s a bit late, but Happy New Year too._ It’s one of the said acquaintances he’d gotten rather close within the last few months. He was already halfway through thinking of a reply when all of a sudden, the rows of photos on his screen shifted, and a new one appeared.

It was the crossing near Yasaka Shrine, simple and beautiful, like Kaminaga’s other photos. But unlike the recent ones, it wasn’t black and white. The picture was in full color, showing a nice composition of the atmospheric night street and subtle lights. The tags were loud, screaming _Happy New Year_ in more than one language, but the thing that made his breath stuck in his throat was the one-word caption: _Vorfreude_.

Before he could think better of it, Miyoshi tapped the screen once and left a heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> by the way, do back up your files, as often as you could, especially the wips, _especially those_ , use cloud drive or something, ~~don’t be like me who ended up rewriting and that's part of why it took me so long lmao~~ , because who knows when your laptop's gonna decide to break down and lose all of your wips :'))


	7. things that never changed, and things that’d be lost forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to avoid confusion, i put time indicators at the beginning of every flashback, if there isn't any time indicator after a line break then it means it's set in the present time. happy reading!

Kaminaga woke up past midday with a faint dream of Miyoshi liking a picture he posted last night before falling asleep, then almost choked on his water when he checked his phone and found out it wasn’t a dream at all. Okay, the painter was certainly being what he called civil again, but Kaminaga didn’t mind, since the fact that he was no longer blocked meant a progress. They’d work on it, he thought to himself, _it’d work out somehow_.

Collecting his thoughts from last night, he remembered that Fukumoto had joined them when it was nearing closing time and the other customers had dwindled. They did a lot of catching up, filling each other in about how their mutual friends were doing. If he counted, there had been eight boys in their inner circle during high school; Miyoshi, Fukumoto, Kaminaga himself, Hatano, Jitsui, Tazaki, Amari, and Odagiri—although he transferred rather early, so they didn’t get to spend much time together.

From Fukumoto, he came to know that Odagiri, as well as Hatano and Jitsui were all now living in Kyoto. It’s strange how they’re making a sort of unplanned reunion in this city, but he was delighted to know, especially since he and Hatano had somewhat fallen out of contact after the latter went for an exchange to France. That shorty was never much of a social media guy, after all, and Kaminaga once more swore almost all of them had instantly disappeared after they graduated.

Kaminaga then told them about Tazaki and Amari, the only ones who also stayed in Tokyo and went to the same university as him. Those two had finally begun dating about three years ago, after years of mutual pining that was very painful to watch. But now things were already placed in where they ought to be, and Kaminaga was sure they’re on a steady course to marriage (although they pretty much acted like an old married couple already—but he’d make do with anything that hurt less than mutual pining). Fukumoto’s smile was ineffable at the end of his story, as if he was keeping something hugely amusing to himself. When Kaminaga asked about what’s so funny about it, his only comment was, “You should visit Hatano and Jitsui.”

And he definitely would, but Kaminaga decided to heed Fukumoto’s reminder that the couple might be off to somewhere during New Year holiday, so he told them he’d come to visit on the second weekend of January. He’d been busy with his own thing to care too much, but now when he thought about it, Kaminaga did miss his old friends a lot. He recalled that the story of how the two got together was award-winning on its own, but the most amusing part was how it had taken so long for Hatano to admit that Jitsui and he were dating. Trying to fathom how they could handle each other’s terrible personality was a challenge, but it turned out that one always complemented the other well, in ways that were totally unexpected. They deserved each other, Kaminaga the self-proclaimed love expert concluded.

Meanwhile, his own situation with Miyoshi seemed to be getting improvement, they hadn’t met each other again, but remained in contact through online chats. They were discussing about the city’s machiya revitalization plan when he finally gathered the courage to ask Miyoshi out on another date—or _not_ -date, he wasn’t sure about what to call it. It’s totally normal for two friends to go out and just enjoy spending time together… right? On one side, it sounded suspiciously full of underlying intentions since they’re ex-lovers, but he wouldn’t protest as long as the other would still want to see him.

Miyoshi proposed to visit Yumeji’s exhibition in the same gallery that showcased Yoshitoshi’s works a few weeks ago, and Kaminaga didn’t even think twice to take up the offer. Being able to visit galleries together again was nice, especially since this was something planned and not just some fortunate coincidence. Miyoshi never liked Japanese-style paintings before, but now Kaminaga saw that he had indeed changed his opinions about it. _People change_ , he reminded himself, they all did change.

The two came across a cafe after they finished commenting on every piece they saw, and in between the coffee and the croissants Kaminaga told him that he’d always wanted to have a coffee shop of his own.

“You could try renovating the machiya like Fukumoto did with his bar,” Miyoshi suggested, “but financially speaking, the land itself probably worth more than the building, so selling it would be more efficient, and then use the money to open up a cafe somewhere else.”

“But if I sold it, people would just tear it down and build a modern, earthquake-resistant building on it anyway, right?” Kaminaga laughed a bit desperately. “It’d be a shame.”

“Viewed from a cultural perspective? Yes.”

Sooner or later, he’d have to decide on the fate of his machiya. The easiest (and perhaps also most reasonable) choice was to sell that house and go back to Tokyo, but something held him back there. Perhaps he’s being too sentimental, but with with or without the cultural value, that was still the place where his uncle had lived; it wasn’t just a house, it’s a _home_. Kaminaga didn’t really want to let it go, and against all rationality, began to seriously consider turning the place into a business. In the meantime, he realized that he must begin to take up some freelancing again if he wanted to survive staying in this city. Not that he’d been living extravagantly here, and he did still get a somewhat sufficient amount of income from his online patrons for his travel and photography blogs, but if this kept up, his bank accounts were certainly not happy.

His mind was in the middle of drifting into more money matters and the sudden urge to just retire from all worldly possessions and become a monk in a mountain temple somewhere when Miyoshi said, “I saw your newest photos.”

“Yeah?” Kaminaga looked up. “What do you think?”

“They’re really nice,” Miyoshi bit down on his croissant, “though I was a little surprised by the colors, since only some time ago you said you’re doing more black and white.”

“I did.” _Because I was late to realize you took all the colors away when you left_ —Kaminaga barely stopped himself from saying, lucky his eyes were on the butter knife Miyoshi was holding. _Idiot,_ he mentally chided himself, _no flirting_. “But new year, new me, I guess? I just felt it’s time for another change, that’s all.”

“Is that so.”

He made a noncommittal hum as a response, before saying, “Anyway, I haven’t seen you posting anything new in months. Is there really nothing interesting enough to draw here?”

Miyoshi gave him a professional smile, one that he always presented when he had no wish to be prodded further. “I’m busy with private commissions.”

“Oh, okay.” Kaminaga leaned back on his chair, resigned. “I guess that also leaves you with no time for a new project, then.”

“Depends,” the painter shrugged, “you have something in mind?”

“I was thinking to do a collab project with you while I’m here,” he started a bit unsure, so he dragged his sentence to see how Miyoshi would react, yet nothing was visible on that face so he had no option but to continue, “a small series consisted of photos and paintings… like, you know, what we wanted to do when we’re still in college. We’ve never had the chance to go through with the idea, so I thought, maybe, just maybe…?”

 _Shit_ , Kaminaga screamed at himself inwardly, _shit, shit, shit_ — _bad move, worst idea, you big, big idiot._ It’s probably too soon to bring up something like that, but sometimes words left his mouth before his brain could process what he was actually proposing. Spontaneity’s good and getting carried away by the moment at times wasn’t so bad too, but more often than not, it made him somewhat reckless. That’s an old trait that he still couldn’t fix. Now Miyoshi would think too much of it—or even worse, it’d make him uncomfortable and close off once more, repulsed by the prospect of realizing a dream that was made together, made when they were still _lovers_.

Miyoshi would refuse, and Kaminaga would lose him all over again.

He prepared himself to actually give up. It might be better to just pack his things, return his butt to Tokyo, and never set foot within fifty-kilometer radius of this man again. Perhaps it’d be easier for them both; perhaps only by creating distance and not talking to each other anymore, he’d be able to forget how they had been and how it made him feel. (But Kaminaga had tried doing that up until just a few weeks ago, and he’s still doing a spectacular job at letting Miyoshi go.)

 _He might already have somebody else, you know_ , the pessimistic part of the brain chimed in, and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to have the earth split open under his chair and swallow him whole, _he even hinted about it before, just because you fairly stayed out of serious relationships all this time, doesn’t mean he did too._

Kaminaga dared to look up, searching for hints of rejection on the other’s poker face. But in the end, he couldn’t find anything that he could make out, and Miyoshi only looked a bit thoughtful before giving an answer that sent him reeling, “Let me think about it.”

* * *

** nine years ago **

Miyoshi was someone who seemed hard to like at first. He came across as cold, distant, and probably the worst narcissist Kaminaga had ever met. But once circumstances allowed them to spend more time together (all sings and praises to Fukumoto’s holy cooking and his welcoming attitude towards uninvited guests in the cooking club), he realized that Miyoshi was so much more than a pretty face with an insufferable attitude.

People said he loved easily, but this time Kaminaga _fell_ , genuinely and hard.

They argued a lot in the beginning. Miyoshi was compelling, Kaminaga was confident on his grounds, and they were both equally stubborn. Yet the small bickerings quickly grew into something more good-natured, and leaned towards more of bantering. Soon they discussed more than they debated, and when both finally began to open up, Kaminaga realized they were actually more similar in thoughts than what he figured initially. Now if they did argue about something, they were usually on the same side, against other people.

Kaminaga began to drop by the art room after school, sitting there for hours, writing for his blog or reading a novel while Miyoshi painted. Sometimes they did it while chatting, sometimes they preferred to work by themselves without any distraction, as if they had a mutual understanding on when to stay silent. And Kaminaga didn’t mind, Miyoshi turned out to be one of the few people he was comfortable just sitting with and not talking, but still enjoying the company of each other.

Miyoshi was very private about his work process, and would turn his canvas away from any prying eyes when he wasn’t finished. The only person he was comfortable enough working next to was Jitsui, but it’s probably because they both know each other’s boundaries well and the latter was more often engrossed in his own work. Kaminaga got turned down the first time he asked if he could watch him paint, but didn’t press for it. It took him months, but after Miyoshi was finally sure that Kaminaga respected the privacy in this matter, he showed him sketches or asked for his opinions from time to time. His favorite painter trusted him at last, and it made him overjoyed.

The boy got accustomed to hang around in the art room, so often it was almost like his second base. The way Jitsui eyed him at first was unnerving, especially since the younger boy kept smiling for no apparent reason. Although soon Kaminaga learned that it’s just the way Jitsui was, and he might as well be secretly planning on your gory murder inside his head, but again that’s _just_ how he was, and that’s okay, as long as he didn’t physically kick Kaminaga out. They became friends; the three hung out together often; and if Miyoshi’s sense humor was morbid, how to describe Jitsui’s was beyond him. But it’s all good too, Kaminaga really liked both of them.

Once, Hatano dropped by the art room to pick him up, which initiated Kaminaga to introduce him to Miyoshi, and then to Jitsui. It went well, _too_ well. Kaminaga had never seen Hatano so smitten, and he witnessed that Jitsui was actually capable of having non-murderous interests in other living beings. Next thing he knew, the two were dating.

Hatano and Jitsui’s case emboldened Kaminaga to ask Miyoshi to hang out, with just the two of them, under the pretext of not wanting to monopolize Jitsui’s time that was now naturally belonged more to Hatano. So they went to art galleries and photo exhibitions together, did spy thriller movie marathons, tried out cafes on their high school student budget and went everywhere looking for some sort of inspiration.

Kaminaga had always been keen on exploring, walking to wherever his feet brought him, watching people and thinking about their life stories. He liked bringing home a portion of what he learned in the form of pictures and showed things for what they were, while making people notice the parts that made these things precious and beautiful, even in all their modesty.

Miyoshi seemed to understand all that without having him explain it, and often tagged along on Kaminaga’s outings, accompanying with a kind of patience Kaminaga never saw him give for other people. He’d stand at one corner reminding him to wear gloves during the cold season, holding an umbrella above his head when Kaminaga persisted to get some rainy shots, making sure he drink enough water on hot days (although Miyoshi hated summer and kept complaining about how hard it was to do and maintain his hair in the humidity). Sometimes he’d also ask to have some photos that he really liked, and used it for drawing references. That was their means of finding ideals in the world they lived in, and the best way to understand things through each other’s eyes, and though Miyoshi and he were quite different in processing and projecting what they saw, the end result was always a complement to the other.

They kept going like that for a long time, content in something that was unnamed. Kaminaga wasn’t sure if he should try to make everything clear and define whatever their relationship was, but he knew that they liked each other for much more than the mere outward beauty—though that played a part too, couldn’t be helped that he’s handsome—be it just as friends or something more.

By that time, most people could’ve sworn they’d already been dating, though a few closest friends knew they hadn’t pronounce anything. Hatano had more than once threatened to kick his ass if he wouldn’t make a move, but he wasn’t sure if Miyoshi would want the same thing. He let it shown that he’s fond of Kaminaga’s company, but he’d always seemed perfectly fine and comfortable on his own. Miyoshi was just always too capable, too independent; half of Kaminaga was steadily beginning to revolve around him, but the other remained focused on his own goals.

In the end, Kaminaga dragged it out too long. Their friendship was simply too valuable to risk.

Miyoshi then beat him to it—because he’d always been ahead of him, of everyone, of _everything_ —in one late winter evening nearing Kaminaga’s graduation, he asked if Kaminaga would like to date him. Miyoshi didn’t actually need to ask, really, not when he already took Kaminaga’s heart long before that.

Kaminaga, along with Tazaki and Amari, graduated, but they still hung out with high school friends often, and nothing changed much between all of them. Miyoshi and he did change, however, they grew closer, much more intimate both emotionally and physically. Before, Miyoshi only ever talked about his ideas and the stuff he liked, but never really shared stories about himself. They unsurprisingly reserved in these things, and knew not to perturb each other’s third rail, preferring to wait for either to be comfortable enough to talk, while holding on to the conviction that the other would be there to listen when they’re ready to.

Miyoshi told him about his family, his mother—an old subject buried under memories (Kaminaga had only ever seen her once or twice, through a family photo that was still on display in the Miyoshis’ living room, and learned whom the son got his eyes from)—and his father who wanted him to continue his work. He grew up thinking and deciding things for himself, and the pressure from the older Miyoshi had him constantly under stress, but in the end he didn’t have a choice other than letting his father choose a college major for him.

It’s hard to see him breaking bit by bit, but Miyoshi always had it together because that’s just how he was made to be, and Kaminaga could only do his best to support him. Once Miyoshi joked about moving out to somewhere far, changed his name, and lived with a new identity as a painter and art dealer. He had wanted so much to wash the family name off his person.

“Just your family name?”

“Just the family name.”

“What about your… _first name_?” Kaminaga swallowed. They’d been intimate in so many ways imaginable, and being on first-name basis wasn’t weird at all. But Miyoshi never called him _Kazuo_ , save for some very private moments or when he was in the mood of teasing, and in turn Kaminaga had only ever addressed him by last name too.

“Katsuhiko?” Miyoshi said. “That one was given by my mother.”

It wasn’t even remotely a decent explanation, but for Kaminaga, it was enough.

* * *

** seven years ago **

A text came in when Kaminaga was in the middle of pulling off an all-nighter for his fourth semester finals. His eyes automatically glanced at his phone and saw his boyfriend’s name, then cursed himself audibly when he realized he had placed it with the screen facing upwards earlier, now it’d be really hard trying not to procrastinate. He opened the message with excitement nonetheless, as how it’s always been with Miyoshi.

_I’m quitting college._

Kaminaga had never hit the call button faster in his life.

Miyoshi picked up at the first ring, and Kaminaga couldn’t hold it in. “What the fuck?”

He heard a low chuckle. “ _Is that how people greet their boyfriend these days?_ ”

“Well, no,” Kaminaga couldn’t help but to let a chuckle escape him as well, before clearing his throat and asked in a serious tone, “seriously, though, what happened?”

“ _Nothing_.”

“People don’t just quit school because of nothing, Miyoshi.”

“ _You never know_.”

“Miyoshi,” Kaminaga sighed, “I’d love to humor you right now, but I got a very important exam first thing in the morning, so I’d really appreciate it if you’d cut to the chase and tell me what this is all about?”

“ _Ah_ ,” there’s a moment of silence before he said again, “ _I’m sorry, Kaminaga._ ”

Miyoshi hardly ever apologized, but when he did, he really meant it. Kaminaga felt instantly bad for being so terse, but he’d been stressed by a lot of things lately, and simply didn’t have the time or patience for a prolonged banter. A multitude of things in his life were fucked up right now, and he didn’t have any intention of making his grades suffer too. He told himself he’d make up for it after all of this was over, but for the time being, he just wanted to survive finals.

“I’m sorry too,” he said, “that was rude—”

“ _Don’t apologize,_ ” Miyoshi cut him off, “ _I picked a bad time, I should’ve known it’s finals week. It’s not your fault._ ”

It was just a fraction of something that might’ve been his imagination only, but from the way he’s speaking, there’s an implication that his boyfriend hadn’t been in school for some time, that he didn’t even realize it was already that time of the semester. Sometimes Kaminaga hated so much the fact that they didn’t go to the same university, and couldn’t see each other in person as often as he wanted to.

“If you wanna talk about it….”

“ _You’ll be there, I know._ ” Miyoshi said quickly, his tone was back to neutral. “ _It’s okay, Kaminaga. We can talk about this later, in person, if you’d prefer._ ”

“That’s a better plan.” Kaminaga rubbed his temples. “When do you wanna meet?”

“ _When are you done with exams?_ ”

He flipped open his schedule book quickly. “Thursday, that’s two days from now. Works for you?”

“ _That’s all right_.”

“Okay.”

“ _Okay_.”

They were silent for a few seconds, Miyoshi often got his mind suddenly preoccupied with something else, while Kaminaga wasn’t sure of what to say. He wasn’t even sure if Miyoshi wasn’t angry with him, and suddenly he wanted to meet him so bad.

“ _Kaminaga_.”

“Yeah?”

“ _Don’t worry about it._ ” He could almost hear Miyoshi’s smile in his voice. “ _There’s no problem at all. Everything’s totally fine._ ”

“If you say so,” he still sounded unsure, even to himself, “but you know what, screw this. You can reach me anytime if you want to, you don’t have to wait until Thursday.”

“ _Be a good student and just go back to your finals_.” This time Miyoshi laughed at the end of his sentence, and Kaminaga felt a bit of weight lifted off his chest immediately.

“See you Thursday evening, then?”

“ _I’ll come over,_ ” Miyoshi said, “ _see you on Thursday._ ”

Miyoshi did look fine when Kaminaga opened his apartment door for him that Thursday, _happy_ , even. Kaminaga made them stir fry, and they had dinner along with the wine Miyoshi brought. He eyed the bottle suspiciously the whole evening, trying to figure out why his boyfriend would buy such an expensive wine, as if he wanted to celebrate something.

“For you surviving finals.” Miyoshi raised his glass. Kaminaga gladly raised his own, and they met in a toast. He’s just so done with college, like he’s done with everything else in life. Spring break had finally started, and he couldn’t wait to go back doing his hobbies.

“And for…?” Kaminaga prompted.

Miyoshi raised his eyebrow, smile never leaving his lips.

“You wouldn’t have bought this expensive of a drink just for me finishing exams,” Kaminaga nudged his foot playfully under the table, “come on, spill it.”

“You think I wouldn’t do it for my boyfriend?” The other man poked his foot back. “I’m _hurt_.”

Now Kaminaga had all the time in the world to play along, and they shoved each other’s feet lightly as the conversation went back and forth, until Miyoshi finally told him what he came over for.

“I’m going for Germany,” he stopped a moment to observe the other’s reaction, but Kaminaga didn’t intend to show anything before he heard more of the story, “I’ve finally gotten in contact with one of my mother’s relative—Yuuki-san, he lives there, and agreed to fund me until I could support myself.”

“Is that what you wanted to talk about the other day?”

“Yes.” Miyoshi nodded. “I’m going to an art college, at last, right where I should’ve been from the start.”

“Damn right.” Kaminaga smiled, trying to ignore the feeling of something plummeting down his chest. There Miyoshi went again deciding things without involving him—not that he actually had any right in it, but it _still_ hurt, like you thought you were a significant part of somebody’s life but then you realized, that perhaps you hadn’t meant that much for them. Sometimes he did wonder if the other even needed him at all; Miyoshi had always been strong on his own, even at the times when he was most vulnerable.

Like sensing something, his boyfriend shot him an apologetic look. “I didn’t tell you sooner… sorry, there were so many things I had to think about and take care of, and lately you’ve been having so much already.” He darted his gaze somewhere else as he finished his sentence. “I just didn’t want to add any more emotional baggage, it’s not fair for you.”

Kaminaga wanted to grab his hand, wanted to look into his eyes and tell him that love wasn’t about gain or loss, fair or unfair. He wanted him to know that you don’t get to process everything with your head, sometimes you’d have to do it with your heart too. But he couldn’t say any of it, his usual eloquence got lost somewhere on the way from his brain to his tongue, and while they both normally didn’t require verbal communication to get each other, it didn’t make sense to Miyoshi this time—it’s just simply not how he operated—and Kaminaga really didn’t know how to make him understand.

“I’m always here, you know,” he finally said, though knowing it wasn’t anywhere near adequate to get his point across, “don’t think about being a burden or something, you never were and never will be.”

Miyoshi’s eyes were grateful, staring at him as a genuine smile bloomed on his lips. What Kaminaga meant was that he could always talk it over with him _before_ deciding, that he could share anything without worry of getting the other caught up in his problems too. They’re together, so whatever came their way, Kaminaga wanted them to figure it out together too. But who was he kidding, Miyoshi was evidently capable of thinking things through and executed his plans solo, and he’d always been successful at it. It’s just how he was programmed to be, far before they even met.

“Well then,” Kaminaga poured each of them another glass and raised it, “congratulations to my boyfriend.”

They spent the night chatting, about how things were going with Kaminaga’s uncle or his part-time jobs, about what were Miyoshi’s plans in the next few months. The more he listened to Miyoshi talked so excitedly about what he wanted to do, the more Kaminaga encouraged him. The thought of them being away from each other hit him like something akin to a broken-hearted feeling, yet the desire to see Miyoshi truly happy outsized it by far. His boyfriend was indeed excellent in his classes even when they weren’t something that he wanted to study, but it was painful to watch him staring longingly into somewhere distant with his sketchbook and pencil in hands.

It felt like losing a part of himself when Kaminaga and the others saw him off at the airport, but he didn’t stop Miyoshi. It was his life and his dreams, and he had no right to hinder it. He thought about the days that were to come; it’d be lonely without him around, but Kaminaga tried to focus on the things Miyoshi would learn and do and the more amazing of a person he’d grow to be. If the other was able to be so mature and strive for his dreams, then Kaminaga ought to be the same. He’d be fine, _they’d_ be fine. It’s an era of internet and video calls, Kaminaga wouldn’t miss him that much, they’d always be there for each other. (Only later that he found out Miyoshi was shit at maintaining long-distance contact, and much, _much_ later that Kaminaga learned the future painter was like that _not_ because he didn’t care—but it’s _too_ late, Kaminaga was too late, and Miyoshi had always been ahead.)

On the subway home he stared out the window, to the nameplates of underground stations that he no longer paid attention to. In Germany, Miyoshi was going to build a new life and a new future for himself; Kaminaga wasn’t sure if he was going to be in it.

By the time he arrived at his station, he realized he was already starting to lose Miyoshi.

* * *

Kaminaga lifted his face from his smartphone, looked up to the building before him, then back to his screen again. The GPS said he had arrived at his destination, so this must be Hatano and Jitsui’s apartment. What did Hatano say he did these days again, martial arts instructor? Part-time translator? Either of those must be loading him with a ridiculous amount of cash if he could afford a place this fancy. Or maybe it was Jitsui. Whatever.

Pressing the room number on the front intercom, he waited for a static buzz to come out through the speaker before announcing in his best singsong voice. “Good afternoon, it’s Kaminaga Post special delivery!” Something like a snort answered him, and the glass door that led to the tiny lobby in front of him opened. He rode the elevator almost all the way to the top floor, looked for the room number he’d memorized, and abused the doorbell in an uncivilized manner until he heard Hatano’s voice shouting from the inside, “I’m not deaf, Kaminaga!”

The metal door opened with a click and his friend emerged. Hatano didn’t look a year older than the last time they met, his grin was lopsided, and still had the decency to greet him with a very polite _,_ “Long time no see, asshole _._ ”

Kaminaga faked a sob. “I missed you so much, shorty.”

Hatano snatched the paper bag he’d been carrying—inside were confections from a store he passed by on the way—but Kaminaga invited himself in before the host could slam the door in his face.

“Is that Kaminaga-san?” Jitsui’s voice called from the inside, to which Kaminaga replied merrily, “Sorry for the intrusion!”

Hatano shoved his back across the entryway and both entered the tatami-matted living room. Kaminaga noticed immediately that it was probably a 3LDK or 4LDK[1] type, but they had taken off the sliding doors from one or two of the rooms and made the living area very spacious. Most of the furniture looked new and modern like the building, a unique combination with the traditional Japanese touch that adorned the apartment here and there. It’s nice, in the way it was self-expressive and reflected the kinds of people living in it, Kaminaga liked it immediately. There were a lot of frames hung on the walls as well, and one of them was the photo that Kaminaga took when Hatano won a national championship in judo during high school. They still kept it, along with the original frame that Kaminaga handed it in as a congratulatory. He felt like making a genuine sob now.

Hatano set up the sweets he brought for them on a plate that looked like it used to be a prop in a sci-fi movie, while Jitsui poured them tea in very Japanese and expensive-looking porcelain cups; the two of them really did have weird tastes. _They deserved each other_ , Kaminaga repeated the line he always said inwardly every time he tried to hold in a potentially offensive remark pertaining the two.

When they started talking, it’s hard to stop. “As someone who’s practicing martial arts, I wanted to train my inner strength in these mountains,” Hatano said with an inappropriately serious face when asked why he moved to Kyoto after graduating from university, “I moved here because this is what it means to live by the ancient discipline, to preserve traditions as the core of our humanity—” Kaminaga didn’t let Hatano finish and threw him a ball of paper wrapper from the sweets he’s eating; the three of them burst out laughing. Jitsui then told him it’s just because they went to the city together on one vacation and immediately liked the atmosphere; slower and calmer than the bustling Tokyo, yet big and modern enough to not make them feel like cave men.

Kaminaga was delighted at the fact that no matter how long they hadn’t seen each other, some things just never changed. It’s like none of them had ever lived apart, and they were still able to exchange banter in the same familiarity—this must be what it felt like to have true friends, he thought to himself. In Tokyo, the only ones he could claim to be his real friends were Tazaki and Amari, though recently Kaminaga had been hanging out less with them because of work and not wanting to be the third wheel. ( _Nonsense_ , Amari had commented when he voiced the third-wheeling concern, but really, Kaminaga did it more for himself than for them—anymore witnessing the pair ogling each other’s eyes so ardently, Kaminaga would lose count of the Häagen-Dazs pints he decimated over sappy movies on Netflix after. He was practically third-wheeling too right now, but at least Hatano and Jitsui had learned how to be subtle.)

“Anyway,” Kaminaga said at one point in their conversation, making a head gesture to the ring on the finger of one of his hosts, “congratulations on your engagement.” He somehow felt like a proud dad— _Hatano and Jitsui_ , out of all high school friends he thought would tie the knot first. It must’ve been what made Fukumoto keep smiling as he suggested him to visit the couple the other day. And though it’s supposed to be obvious, he added just for the icing on the cake, “Who proposed?”

Jitsui looked pleased; while Hatano just blushed furiously, he’d always been like this at anything that had to do with his relationship with his now fiancé. It’d probably would take him until the second wedding anniversary to admit that they’re married—Kaminaga would definitely make it into a bet with Tazaki and Amari. Both of them answered vaguely, but that only cued Kaminaga to tease some more because he’s a jerk and liked to see Hatano suffer. It kind of backfired when Hatano finally found something to turn the focus opposite, “How about you, though, staying single this whole time?”

“I enjoy being a free man.”

“Hard to believe from a playboy,” his friend snorted, but then looked at him with a more concerned expression, “but seriously, no one’s got you interested ever since?”

Hatano stopped at _ever since_ , but never mentioned _you and Miyoshi broke up_ part. He was kind in that way because that’s just how friends were, and actually cared a lot about Kaminaga even though he’d never admit it. Kaminaga was grateful to have Hatano in his life.

“Nope, not at all,” he replied as he reached for his cup and took a sip.

While Jitsui—Jitsui was just pure evil. “Miyoshi-san is in this city, though, do you know?”

Kaminaga was good at spilling tea, both figuratively and literally. Hatano’s laugh stuck in his throat. Forget Kaminaga ever thought of him as kind (and amendment; these guys weren’t his friends, after all—they’re his _best_ friends). “I do. We hung out a few times, actually.” It was mostly accidental, but they didn’t need to know.

“Oh?” Jitsui’s eyebrows raised so high, in the similar way Fukumoto had done too.

“I’m surprised he didn’t demolish you on the spot,” Hatano commented, joining his hands behind his head and leaned back in the sofa in his signature pose, “last time we even mentioned your name in front of him, he looked like he’s about to freeze the room with only his eyes.”

He grimaced, because that’s exactly how cold Miyoshi had looked like the first time they met too. He had cut Kaminaga off his life completely, and if they hadn’t randomly bumped into each other, he’s aware that his chance of even talking to Miyoshi again was zero.

“I actually haven’t seen him again since we went to Fukumoto-san’s bar last time, that was about a month and a half ago,” Jitsui said, “how is he doing?”

“Good,” Kaminaga replied, “seem really busy with work, though.”

“He works in the municipal art museum, after all,” Hatano took a bite of his sweets, “one of my older students also works there, that place is busy as hell.”

Well, Kaminaga didn’t know that. Miyoshi never talked about his work with him beyond necessary, and he didn’t look like he wanted to be asked, so Kaminaga didn’t. Never pushed too much, always waiting, if one of them was ready, he’d talk—that was their rule of thumb.

“Must be busy with _other_ things too,” Jitsui remarked casually as he poured himself another cup.

“Oh, _right_ ,” Hatano hid his smirk behind his fist, “unlike people who _claim_ to like being free men, guys like Miyoshi surely don’t stay single for long.”

Kaminaga tried not to twitch at that.

“With his personality?” Jitsui asked. “Not many people can handle him—well, not for _long-term_ relationships, at least.”

“What personality?” Hatano laughed. “I don’t wanna hear that kind of comment from someone like you. Both of you guys are insufferable.”

“Well, then guess who’s going to suffer for a lifetime because he said _yes_ ,” the fiancé smiled, “ _Ryousuke_.”

Hatano audibly spluttered, and Kaminaga tried his best not to acknowledge their weird brand of flirting. He’d never heard Jitsui called anybody by given name _and_ without a suffix, it’s terrifying, he’s going to have nightmares from this. _They deserved each other_ , he chanted silently again as he busied himself with wiping off the tea he spilled earlier. When Hatano seemed to have finally regained composure and retained whatever left of his dignity, Kaminaga asked, in a manner hopefully sounded as casual as a still smitten ex could be, “Is he, though? Dating anyone, I mean.”

“You know how Miyoshi-san is,” Jitsui gave him a smile that was somewhat laden with sympathy—or pity, like how he looked at Kaminaga when he told him which class Miyoshi was actually in back in high school, “he doesn’t talk about his private life at all. So we’re not sure ourselves, but Fukumoto-san might be more well-informed about this.”

The way their bartender friend was mentioned made it suddenly felt like he was being toyed around between information brokers in the mafia circle, Kaminaga fought the urge to bury his face in his hands and sob for real. “Right.”

“He’ll let us know if he wants us to know, I guess,” Hatano added, before getting up and excused himself to the toilet.

Kaminaga knew it was a bad move, but he seized that chance anyway. Leaning forward, he asked in a lowered voice, “Do you know what happened back in Germany,” he stared at Jitsui with sudden seriousness, “the thing that somehow made him return?”

The other man’s face was stoic. “He hasn’t told you?”

“Not a single thing.” Kaminaga steeled himself and pressed a little further. “What did he tell you?”

“Not much, he didn’t go into details.” Jitsui chose his words carefully. Not like Kaminaga expected him to disclose anything; Jitsui has always been on Miyoshi’s side from the start.

There’s a flushing sound in the toilet, and he let out one final question he knew he’s going to regret asking. “Last one—did he ever tell you anything, about why did we break up?”

“No.” Jitsui was one of their best liars, but Kaminaga had a feeling that he was being honest now. “I don’t know what exactly happened between the two of you and it’s none of my business. But if he ever, miraculously gave you a second chance, Kaminaga-san, you better treat him right this time.”

Hatano returned to his seat, and they resumed the topic about engagements. The three ended up with a bet of who between Tazaki and Amari would propose to the other first.

When Kaminaga rode the bus back to his house that evening, he missed it by a few stops. His mind was filled too much by Miyoshi, and about lost things that might never come back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Japanese apartment layout. The number indicates the number of the rooms, while L means living room, D means dining room, and K means kitchen.


	8. blossoming, for a while

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~who was it again that hoped this fic would be completed before spring break's over? i don't know that person lol~~

“Oh,” Miyoshi said, “didn’t think I’d see you here.”

Hand still hung mid-air with a camera, Kaminaga’s head turned to him with the power and speed of a whip. His face contorted, expression stuck in between something that looked like a deer in the headlights and somebody who really, really needed to go to the toilet. “H-hi.”

“Found anything interesting inside?” he asked, tilting head in the direction of the museum entrance, faintly regretting not taking the back entrance for staff instead. He’s far too tired of accidental meetings already. This must’ve been like the 9,357th time they bumped into each other in the past two months and Miyoshi had pretty much accepted the notion that he was cursed. Or it was just some kind of a weird cosmic joke placed on him by whoever or whatever it was controlling these infinitesimal human lives. Could be both—was it even any different? It was already past the point where he couldn’t care less, to be honest.

“Yeah, I—“ Kaminaga glanced at the direction he gestured to, before stopping himself mid-sentence and returned his attention to him. “I’m sorry, I actually heard about where you work from Hatano—it was just an offhand remark, okay—and when I checked the museum website for exhibitions, I saw that you’re having Monet, so, I thought I might as well come to see it, and I did. I swear I wasn’t stalking or wanting to disturb you at work!”

He could feel his lips forming another _oh_ , slightly amused by the way the other man said everything almost in one breath. So, it wasn’t completely accidental, after all.

“Should’ve realized this is around the time you’ll be off work, though,” the photographer fiddled with his camera strap and murmured, “we keep bumping into each other like this, you must’ve had enough of it by now.”

And Miyoshi did, though he only sighed at that. “You should’ve said you were coming, I could’ve given you a tour around.”

Kaminaga looked slightly taken aback by that, but he was quick on the uptake. His face lit up, and it’s blinding. Or maybe it was the sunset. Miyoshi’s fed up with everything.

“Maybe next time?”

“Sure, just let me know ahead.”

“Thanks.”

“I haven’t done anything,” Miyoshi glanced at his watch and heard his mental alarm blaring in the back of his head, just like every time he tried to do anything nice or be stupidly spontaneous, “it’s a bit early, though, but do you want to get dinner? I skipped lunch today.”

Miyoshi didn’t know why he did it, he really didn’t. Perhaps it was the result of a long day, piled up with weariness and the building feeling of starving. His brain was somewhere else, shoved into the lowest layer of his consciousness and not much was left to make sense of things. He’s dealing with beautiful artworks all day, yet the smile dawning on Kaminaga’s lips now put all of them to shame.

“You don’t need to ask,” he said, and Miyoshi could almost hear his own resolutions shattering. Almost.

* * *

The lady next door had a dog, a large St. Bernard as kind and old as her. She’d been genial since the first day Miyoshi moved in, sharing fruits and vegetables sent by her sister while the painter would in turn help her with grocery shopping. Her eyes were still bright and lively, but her knees were rather weak that she sometimes couldn’t move around too much, so, during the coldest week of January when the snow piled up, he offered to walk her dog. Miyoshi didn’t like animals in particular, but except for cats, didn’t hate them either. Dogs were loyal and much, much preferable.

It soon became a routine. His neighbor’s condition had already been better by the time the calendar flipped into February, but he still took out the dog in his free time. He liked the silent company, and the slow, monotonous pace the dog set for both of them. It gave Miyoshi the perfect excuse to amble in parks without looking too pathetic as well, while the dog was busy with his own thing, he minded his own thoughts.

On one day off, he’s texting with Kaminaga as he headed for a nearby park, and remembering that the other liked animals, casually mentioned about the dog. The photographer apparently wasn’t so far from the area, so he immediately said he’d drop by. As soon as they saw each other, Kaminaga jogged in his direction with one hand supporting the camera dangling from his neck. He squatted, carefully trying to pet the dog. They liked each other instantly. Miyoshi wasn’t surprised, since Kaminaga sometimes acted like he and the dog had the same mental capacity.

“Hey, buddy,” Kaminaga said with a tone he’d use when talking to a baby. The dog draped half of its body on the man and got fur all over his coat, but he didn’t seem to mind at all. “What’s your name?”

“Kazuo.”

Kaminaga’s smile faltered, and he was as stiff as a wooden mannequin when he looked up. “ _Sorry?_ ”

“Or Kazu-chan, whichever you prefer,” Miyoshi said, “my neighbor named him after her husband, she was really lonely after he passed away, so her sister got her a puppy—well, not quite a puppy anymore now, though.”

“I see.” He didn’t meet Miyoshi’s eyes, choosing to cup Kazuo’s face instead. “Then Kazu-chan it is.”

The air between them screamed awkward for a few minutes after that, but Miyoshi didn’t mind it. They knew how to push each other over the edge, and sometimes Miyoshi couldn’t stop himself. It was simply how they’d always been from the beginning, be it as friends or lovers (or ex-lovers now). If Kaminaga couldn’t help but to flirt, then Miyoshi might have an addiction to teasing; _two can play this game_. But as soon as he thought about that, he mentally beat himself. That’s what happened when you’re already too comfortable with someone.

The painter lost count of how many times they hung out in the last few weeks—though no more by accidental encounters, only voluntary rendezvous now, which was great, because it wasn’t even that funny from the start. In no time, they had almost rolled back into how they were when they started out as friends. Some things were still stilted, as expected, and there were things that Miyoshi didn’t want him to know, but at least he no longer wanted to knock Kaminaga off in every five minutes like before, so it’s definitely a good sign.

It was a large park. They started walking from a small lake near the south entrance, crossing a pebbled road before entering a path laden with plum and cherry trees. The cherry trees had yet to bloom, rigid against the grey sky in the backdrop, while their branches bare, sticking up like hungry claws. On the other hand, the plum blossoms had started to come alive, unfolding from several gradations of broken white to deep pink. Miyoshi actually liked them more than the cherry blossoms, because they looked just as beautiful and delicate, but weren’t as fragile.

They were the true harbingers of spring; the first ones to bloom even amidst the remaining snow. The flowers came like a reminder for people to look forward to a season of warmer sun and new delight… his mind drifted to the caption on Kaminaga’s photo that night, _vorfreude_ —the joy of imagining future pleasures. Suddenly Miyoshi wished he didn’t speak German.

He stole glances to the other man, whose eyes landed on the flowers but not really seeing, as if he was thinking about something far away instead, something of a distant past. The cold should’ve been biting, but somehow Miyoshi could feel his face heating up instead.

Plum blossoms had been somewhat special to them, for just right around this time of the year, those flowers were the witnesses when Miyoshi first confessed. _They witnessed when he first kissed you too_ , he could hear his own voice reminded inwardly, mocking, _and that’s what happened when you tried to be romantic_. Miyoshi rubbed his face with a palm; if only he hadn’t chosen such occasion to tell his feelings, he wouldn’t have associated these damn flowers to that one particular moment.

“You okay?”

Kaminaga’s voice made him realize that he still had his hand on his face, so Miyoshi brought it down and showed him the kind of smile he always presented at work. That’s usually enough to indicate that he didn’t want to be asked further, but that didn’t mean Kaminaga would stop staring like was trying to gouge out the unsaid.

“I’m fine, just a bit tired.”

“More commissions?”

“And work, as usual.” It wasn’t a lie, not entirely. He glanced down at Kazuo to make sure the dog was still there and he wasn’t just holding an empty leash. The dog had been too calm, and he slightly wished he could be the same. “Come to think of it, I’ve never really seen you working, though.”

The other man made a scandalized face as he raised his camera. “Then what is _this_?”

“A camera?”

“Uh-huh, and no gloves, means I’m _working_.” He made effort to sound offended, but a smile tugged on both of their lips. “I’m pretty famous online, you know, that’s where the cash coming from.”

“Okay, understood,” Miyoshi raised his hands in surrender, “want to head over there and show me some of your so-called work?”

Kaminaga bought them warm, bottled teas from the nearest vending machine, before the two settled down on the wooden bench. The photographer then highlighted some personal favorites of his latest photos, and though he said almost all were already posted, Miyoshi hadn’t seen them (because unlike _some_ people, he wasn’t a social media stalker). Several of the best ones were famous landmarks like the Kinkaku-ji Temple and Kifune Shrine covered in snow, but the rest were off the beaten track temples which name he hadn’t even heard before. Many of them were very Kaminaga; a gas stove in the middle of a traditional shop (homey but overlooked in the residential route leading to a famous tourist spot), crimson _nanten_[1] berries adorning the front of a restaurant, and life under the light of dawn in a lesser-known geisha district.

A slight pang hit him. Those were the typical scenes that both of them used to hunt for. They would often go somewhere to taste a bit of life there, Kaminaga with his camera, Miyoshi with his sketchbook, pouring their interpretations of a same object in different angles. It was one of his favorite moments. Miyoshi never had trouble with going and working all on his own, but Kaminaga’s presence had been a warm significance, making him felt like he wasn’t completely ostracized from other human beings, making him felt that in this world, there’s at least someone who’s willing to understand him. (Miyoshi hadn’t told Kaminaga that he actually hadn’t finished so much as a simple painting over the last year, but he didn’t need to know, not yet.)

Nearing midday, he bid farewell to return Kazuo home, a little bit unsure if he should offer to have lunch together as well. Kaminaga looked like he also wanted to say something, but then his phone pings before any of them could say anything.

Kaminaga read the message, then looked up to him. “Got any plans tonight?”

“Nothing so far.”

“Wanna fly to Shanghai?” Kaminaga wiggled his eyebrows playfully. What he meant was Fukumoto’s bar, but that’s just about how terrible his sense of humor was. “The boys are having a night out, Hatano asked me to invite you too if we somehow came across each other—which is conveniently true. Eight-thirty?”

“I’ll come.”

“Great,” he paused briefly, as if trying to hold himself from saying something, then said it anyway, “maybe you’d also want to grab dinner before that?”

“I need to do something first, so I’ll have to pass on that one,” Miyoshi added a smile, still wasn’t sure if it’s a good thing to spend too much time with the other man, “but I’ll see you there.”

“Okay, see you tonight.”

Miyoshi almost regretted it when they parted. The dog led them home, while his mind flew farther than Shanghai, trying to remember why he hated Kaminaga.

* * *

**eight years ago **

“Eat up.”

Miyoshi placed a big bowl of rice on the table, already topped with side dishes—rolled egg, grilled mackerel—just the standard stuff. He wasn’t a genius cook like their high school friend, Fukumoto, but at least his cooking was passable, if not decent. Well, as long as you follow the recipe, then theoretically nothing could go wrong, right?

Kaminaga looked up from his mountain of school work. “Thanks.”

He didn’t take care of himself when he’s stressed, and it’s up to Miyoshi whether to care for the other or not. He always did, because he liked being functional, and nobody’s breaking down on his watch. Kaminaga brought his dinner closer and picked up the chopsticks, while eyes were glued back to his book. Distracting himself by working on something was his way of coping with things. Miyoshi didn’t try to stop him; at least he’s being productive.

A phone call came a couple of days ago, informing that Kaminaga’s uncle was in the hospital. Miyoshi had always known that Kaminaga was close to his man just from the way he talked about him. That cherished uncle lived in Tokyo since college, before returning to his hometown, Kyoto, when all of his younger siblings were married. Sounded like a great person, traveling all the time and making little adventures along the way. Kaminaga didn’t see him as often when he’d gotten older, but the uncle always sent his favorite nephew postcards from the places he visited. Kaminaga might even have been closer to him that he was to his parents.

He didn’t speak about his family often, and they rather spend time outside than to meet in each other’s house. Miyoshi hadn’t really known much, before Kaminaga told him during the summer break in Miyoshi’s first year of university, about newly discovered half-sisters and that his parents might be going for a divorce. He spoke calmly, but his eyes were indignant, Miyoshi had never seen him so angry before—he’d never seen him angry at all, in fact.

They remained very close, perhaps more than ever, patching each other up during the roughest times. Then things started to fall into the wrong places and mistakes were made. They weren’t so immature, but didn’t mean they weren’t still young. Miyoshi was too single-minded, and Kaminaga were too idealistic; both of them cared too much about making things _right_ , in the way each believed them to be.

Then it happened simply; he found hope during Kaminaga’s worst time. He figured it’d be wiser not to put more burden on his boyfriend’s thoughts, so Miyoshi didn’t tell him about the arrangement he made with Yuuki until everything was set and he was ready to go. He would’ve liked to stay, maybe, if things were just a little bit different, but he couldn’t stand not being able to do things in the way he wanted, and Kaminaga never asked him to not go.

In retrospect, Miyoshi did play a part in the disastrous end of their relationship… he was a little too late to see that they were slowly unraveling, and Kaminaga hammered down the final nail in the coffin. He might haven’t been very adept in maintaining long-distance contact—okay, fine, he sucked at it—but it didn’t mean that he didn’t care. Kaminaga was very busy during his first months in the university, and Miyoshi’s just the same; adjusting his life, learning a new language, accustoming to brand-new surroundings. He’s preoccupied in manners at hand and didn’t put much attention in anything else—that’s how Miyoshi functioned, that’s why he’s been successful this whole time.

It was presumptuous to think that Kaminaga would understand, to think that it wouldn’t be that big of a deal since they had always been the ones that understand each other the most. He’d pretty much accepted Kaminaga for who he was, with all the good and bad things, and expected that the other would do the same. They hadn’t been around each other that long for it to be shown clearly, but Miyoshi had given all that he had—he trusted Kaminaga, and for someone like him, _trust_ might be in a little bit of a higher degree than the word _love_ , and he believed that Kaminaga would treasure it in the way Miyoshi treasured _them_.

He was chasing his dreams; Kaminaga would understand because he was the one who knew Miyoshi best.

Miyoshi was wrong.

* * *

It’s a strange feeling. Same people, same sort of familiarity, yet in a place and time that were far different. Miyoshi had once buried all memories that included Kaminaga deep inside, but when he was presented with a similar scene, suddenly it became too easy to remember all of them. A few years before they were hanging out like this after school, in Fukumoto’s cooking club room or in family restaurants, with juice boxes or cola in hand and homework spread open on the table. Now they had cocktails and cards, with cigarette smoke hovering above their heads.

The time was only half past nine, but Fukumoto had flipped the sign on the door and closed his bar early so they could have the place for themselves. Miyoshi highly suspected that he didn’t actually need the money and had been secretly running another secret business that was more profitable (and perhaps not completely legal— _who knows_ , he didn’t want to accuse, but ever since he witnessed Fukumoto played two entirely different characters in a spy-themed class drama during high school, Miyoshi didn’t know if he could ever trust anyone anymore).

Fukumoto initially played dealer for blackjack, promising them a free drink if anyone made enough wins to reach a certain number. Of course, no one did. Tazaki taught him how to cheat the cards as a way of saying thanks since Fukumoto often helped him feeding his pigeons during high school, and while nobody had yet succeeded in figuring out how the two did it, they’re prideful and stubborn enough to keep on betting. But the boys had been notoriously known of getting bored quickly, and soon they switched into playing their version of poker instead.

Speaking of the boys, Miyoshi missed him—Tazaki, the only sane person in their group, and Amari too. The two were the only ones who weren’t present that night, and he found himself thinking, half wishing, that they would have a proper reunion someday. Miyoshi had more or less lost contact with most of them when he cut off Kaminaga. During all those years he spent overseas, Jitsui was pretty much the only one he still periodically talked to, but compared to how it had been in high school, even their correspondence was scarce.

Yet, here they were now, playing Joker Game like they were never apart. He couldn’t even remember who started playing it the way they did, but Miyoshi was pretty sure it happened at some point after they were all addicted to watching spy thrillers. Somebody started calling it Joker Game—it’s a cheesy name, but eventually all of them used it and it stayed that way until today.

When they started playing, Kaminaga was in tag team with Hatano, but then most of them switched to Fukumoto’s side and he won the game with a full house. Jitsui kept giving signs—he wasn’t sure to whom, but at least half of them were fake—and Odagiri very implicitly, asking for an ally. Miyoshi thought he no longer had that burning competitive streak, but being surrounded by people who took a game of cards as if their lives were on the line, he couldn’t help but wanting to win.

Miyoshi caught Kaminaga’s glance from across the table. He and Fukumoto didn’t participate in the second game, choosing to stand aside and observe the game instead. The man raised an eyebrow at him, and Miyoshi could see the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. The painter took a long drag of his cigarette, suppressing the budding urge to smile. He could feel Fukumoto’s stare boring into them as he handed Kaminaga a drink, but Miyoshi ignored people as good as he put on a poker face.

And then it just happened. The way Kaminaga’s left hand brushed his own hair, finger rubbing under his nose, glancing and not glancing. It was some of those things, and some others that he recognized as signs they reserved specifically for each other. Miyoshi maintained a calm exterior, but inwardly started running in welcome uneasiness, like the feeling you got when you’re excited but couldn’t quite express it openly. Is Kaminaga allying with him, or is he sending fake signs to trap? He could hear Jitsui said _call_ , and soon it was his turn. His eyes made a quick sweep around the table and decided that Kaminaga’s signs were only meant for him, and what’s the harm in trusting? If it turned out to be fake, he’d only lose a few thousand yen at worst, and Kaminaga’s going to get so much shit from him. He blinked and made up his mind.

“Raise.”

He won the second game, and contemplated whether he should participate in the next one. But none of them usually backed out fast in anything they ever played, and he could see Fukumoto as well as Kaminaga were now back in the game. Miyoshi’s nothing if not go big or go home, so he decided to keep playing. Kaminaga wasn’t on his team this time, but they glanced at each other often, the other man even flashed him a smirk once.

“By the way,” halfway through the game, Hatano began, “spring kinda comes late this year, isn’t it?”

It’s an old tactic Hatano always used when he wanted to distract the other players, but Miyoshi humored him anyway. “Is it?”

“It is,” Jitsui said, casually placing more bets, “haven’t you watched the news?”

“I don’t have a TV.”

Five pairs of eyes turned to him, but nobody said anything until Jitsui, with a smile so sweet it’s sickening, commented, “Somehow I’m not surprised that you lived abroad longer than any of us, but is still the most cave man.”

Miyoshi almost made it known that he actually still read news on his phone, just never really paid attention to the weather section—because who did? Well, apparently everyone except him—but he left it at that. Miyoshi didn’t need to justify himself. He met Jitsui’s eyes with the haughtiest gaze he could muster as he doubled the amount the man just placed in.

“Which reminds me,” Kaminaga said, in an amused tone that he didn’t even bother to hide, “I won’t stay here for long, so why don’t we go out together again before I go back? _Hanami_.[2]”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Hatano replied, seemed happy that the conversation was going forward (he probably planned to cheat somehow, just when everybody was more invested in talking), “it’ll be like high school again.”

Fukumoto looked up from his cards. “I can pack us some lunch.”

“Just make sure to plan the date ahead,” Jitsui said, “some of us may have to go with co-workers too.”

Miyoshi wasn’t sure when was last time he went out for hanami—sophomore year when he was still in Tokyo, maybe? That meant when he was still dating Kaminaga too. Most of them were in different universities by then, did they even have the chance to go?

“Are you coming too, Odagiri?”

“Oh, Odagiri-san’s schedule is pretty tight, right? Maybe if the others aren’t busy, we can just go on your day off.”

“That’ll be nice,” Odagiri said, then added like an afterthought, “speaking of co-workers, should we invite Sakuma too?”

“Hey, yeah, why nobody invited him today?”

“I tried, but he’s working.”

“Too bad.”

“What about Kaminaga-san? He hasn’t met Sakuma-san.”

“Ah, you’re the one who suggested, we should ask if you mind.”

Miyoshi raised his gaze slowly, trying to see the man’s reaction. But Kaminaga, being on _the more the merrier_ principle throughout his life, only smiled good-naturedly. “Not at all, I haven’t heard anything about him, though?”

“He’s one my high school friends after I transferred here,” Odagiri explained, “we work together now.”

“He hangs out here a lot too, so I suppose he’s just kind of in the circle now.”

“Then it’s all good, I guess?” Kaminaga said. “I don’t see why it’s a problem, let’s invite him too.”

“We thought you might just wanna have this with ex… school friends only,” Hatano said, making obvious glance to Miyoshi when he dragged the word _ex_. Hatano put up a bored expression as usual, but he swore that man was laughing wickedly inside. All those years together… Jitsui must’ve tainted him, now they’re in the dark side together. There’s no going back from this. It’d be a disaster and Miyoshi’s fully aware there really wasn’t much he could do about it.

“But he’s still Odagiri’s high school friend, wasn’t he?” _Kaminaga, please just stop._ “Anyway, if he hangs out with you guys, then it must be someone I can tolerate too—or someone who can tolerate me.”

That earned him a few chuckles, but then Hatano had to go ahead and be the little shit that he was. “Well, the reason Sakuma tolerates us all, is probably because he’s just really interested in one of us—”

His sentence was cut off, and Hatano’s face scrunched up suddenly like he’s trying not to bark. The table was fortunately small enough for Miyoshi to kick his shin under it. Fukumoto shifted in his seat, suddenly acting as the dealer. “Shall we see who wins this time?”

Hatano won with a straight flush, looking more triumphant than he had the right to. Miyoshi tried to recall mentally what kind of crap he’d done to him in the past to get this overdue revenge. He couldn’t say he’s angry, they’re too good of friends for that, but he’d probably circle his fingers around Hatano’s neck at the next chance he got.

The game continued. He glanced at Kaminaga, but the man didn’t make eye contact for the rest of the night.

* * *

It started with a morning drizzle when Miyoshi stepped out of his door, but soon turned heavy once he began walking to the subway station. He used the whole commuting time to review exhibition budget in his head, while faintly considering getting a car. Work took most of his time ever since he moved back to Japan, and it’s pretty stressful, but he preferred it that way, because at least it gave him something to do.

On days off, he slept at home, or if he’s too restless, he’d go to the gym and take the neighbor’s dog out for a walk. If that still wasn’t enough, then Miyoshi would go out with somebody who could talk. He didn’t mean it to be a habit like this, but Sakuma just happened to be in the right place at the right time, and Miyoshi found his company wasn’t so bad, so they started hanging out frequently.

“You seem tired,” at some point during dinner, Sakuma pointed out. It wasn’t accusatory, but sounded more like worry. Miyoshi looked up to the man sitting across the table, under the yellow lights, his dark blue eyes almost looked green.

The restaurant they chose was quite far from the places they normally ate in. The area was far less crowded, and buildings weren’t cramped against one another that it allowed some to actually have a garden. Rained trickled down the window glass he sat next to, and when Miyoshi looked outside, he could see plum trees waving slightly with lanterns dangling from their branches.

“Just busy with work. No decent enough of a design could work within the ridiculously small budget we got, so maybe we’ll have to cut back—you’re smiling, Sakuma-san, is there something funny?”

“You say you may need to cut back,” he answered, the curve of his lips widened, “but your eyes definitely say you’ll find a way to get your design through, no matter what.”

“Oh, and I will.” Miyoshi smiled, because he always did, and stubborn enough to not let any project under his direct supervision not meeting his standards.

“I’m sure you will.”

“You’ve been really busy as well, lately,” he commented, changing the topic. “But the other guys are planning for a hanami, and they want to know if you’re coming. Odagiri will be there too.”

“That sounds nice, just tell me when and I’ll see if I can make it,” Sakuma said, already checking his planner. Even in the era when phones were already smarter that their owners, some people were just old school enough to still use a physical book for writing appointments. It was this kind of little peculiar details that Miyoshi appreciated; cave man or not, at least he’s not the only one.

To be honest, Sakuma was probably the last person he thought he could be friends with—mere acquaintances, maybe, though nothing beyond—but he found him interesting in ways unthinkable before. Miyoshi would like to think that he’s rather good at judging character, yet when he thought he had Sakuma figured out, the man did and said something that was out of his expectation. Being wrong was always frustrating, but it’s also somewhat intriguing.

“I think I’ll order another glass,” Sakuma said, raising a hand to call the waiter, “do you want something as well?”

“The _umeshu_?” The plum liqueur wasn’t his favorite, and the particular brand they’re trying was far too sweet for his liking that Miyoshi had to hold back from making a face when he tasted it. Sakuma, on the other hand, didn’t seem to be bothered at all. “Ah. So, you really do like sweet things.”

It wasn’t even a question. The man almost looked sheepish when he nodded. Well, that was another thing unexpected. With that kind of image and impression, Miyoshi wouldn’t have guessed.

That’s about how they normally went, conversations over a meal and a couple of drinks, stories in between glasses on the bar counter. It’s a kind of laid-back chatting he didn’t usually indulge himself in, but things were easy with Sakuma and he found that sometimes you didn’t always need to think to be able to enjoy your time. It helped that they came from very different backgrounds and worked in very different fields; you’d always find something interesting to learn on subjects that you don’t know much about. Was this what they called opposite attraction?

Unlike the usual, this time Miyoshi hadn’t planned so far ahead that he simply let some things as they were. He hadn’t thought about where he wanted to bring this—this—what are _they_ , anyway? They’d been on a lot of dates—or _were_ those? Nobody ever said it outright that it was a date, but it had to be, right? Sakuma hadn’t mentioned anything that would lead them further, not too obvious, at least, and the painter hadn’t decided whether the other man was just the non-confrontational type or was he still waiting too. Miyoshi’s usually as decisive as he’s practical, and had no problem in making the first move, but something held him back.

Maybe because he still wasn’t sure if he wanted to stay living here for long, or maybe because he hadn’t yet to think everything through. Sometimes, experience taught you that some things that seemed perpetual didn’t last as long as you thought it’d be, and you learned to expect nothing would be there forever, like spring flowers that withered away as fast as they blossomed; Miyoshi was waiting for everything to surrender to its impermanence.

He looked away from the window, right when the waiter started walking up to their table.

“Actually, Sakuma-san, make that two.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] _Nandina domestica._
> 
> [2] Flower (cherry blossom) viewing, usually a picnic party with friends, family, or colleagues, accompanied by food and drinks.


End file.
